


From across the room

by nightimedreamer



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Crying, Cuddling, Dancing Lessons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pre-Book 1: Carry On, Sharing a Bed, Songfic, Watford Seventh Year, not so slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer
Summary: Five times Baz and Simon lock eyes from across the room + one time they finally close the distance.Set throughout the 7th year, non-canon compliant. Simon knows about Baz's feelings and is starting to understand his own. Baz, though, can't love Simon, not when everyone expects them to be enemies and, eventually, to fight to death.Or, Simon and Baz finally come to an agreement about their feelings for each other, but will they ever be able to push the differences aside and be together?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 93
Kudos: 328
Collections: My Favorite Snowbaz Fics





	1. Brighter than the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Love, love, love" by Of Monsters and Men.  
> It's probably silly and sometimes a little angsty, so I hope y'all enjoy it.

_September 2nd, 7th_ _year_

**Baz**

This is the first time we stare at each other. 

Well, definitely not the _first time,_ ever, but at least the first since he sorted everything out. I didn't see it coming, and had barely any time to brace myself for his reaction, but even if I did, I could never have predicted this.

Sky-blue eyes locked to mine from across the Courtyard, piercing me where I stand. There's no anger in them, not a hint of disgust, nothing I'd expected. He doesn't seem to be about to go off, either, so it's difficult to say which one of us feels more puzzled. 

Oh, that's what fills his eyes, by the way. In all these years sharing a room, I'd never seen Simon Snow look so... Confused. Curious, even. Like I'm some kind of enigma he's spent years trying to solve, and that's just got even more puzzling. 

Actually, I suppose I am. But it's not like I'm going to give him an explanation in a silver tray. It took me five years to understand all of this, and one more year of longing and unrequited feelings haunting me.

I've been standing in the shadows for the last couple of hours, admiring him from this hidden spot. Well, more like the last couple of _years._ Lurking, plotting, staring and doing other things we usually do in the dark. 

All for this boy. This golden, freckled, stupid boy. 

It was just unthinkable, I always made sure it would be. But it's also true, so Snow won't be able to ignore it any longer, unintentionally or not. 

And I, too, won't be able to hide how I feel any longer. 

**Simon**

The food is amazing as always, the Courtyard is decorated with lights and there are children running around, having fun. Also, I think the fireworks are about to start.

But of course I can't pay attention to any of this. Because he's here. Of course.

Every year is the same: I try to enjoy the picnic but it only lasts until Baz shows up. And he always makes sure I see him.

Well, it used to be like this. Now, something is different, though I can't quite wrap my mind around the change. He didn't even try to catch my eye, and for a moment I thought he wouldn't show up. It took me a while to spot him in the shadows, away from the lights and the revelry, almost as if he'd been hiding from me.

And I know he had, because when I finally saw Baz, he was staring at me.

Our eyes locked. The world around seemed to fade on the edges. 

It's unbelievable. If someone had turned the world upside down it wouldn't be this messy. The angry glances exchanged, the fistfights, the shouting and the insults, that's the natural order. That's how it should be, how it's _ever_ been. 

Or so I thought. 

Because, apparently, this was never the scenery in Baz's mind. It makes me question everything I know about him, everything I know about _me._ Right now, I'm questioning the very ground I stand.

All these years, thinking that Baz hated me. Now I know it isn't true, despite his great effort to convince me (he managed it, though. For six years). 

Now I know the truth, and it is, somehow, even more disturbing than I could have imagined. 

Baz Pitch is in love with me.

And I don't know what to do with this information. 

I've been trying to approach him all night, but he keeps moving away. We're circling one another around the Courtyard as we would in a fight, but Baz is clearly retracting. 

I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know what is broken. (Something must be, after all these years of fighting.) 

I don't know why I care. (But I know I do. A lot.)

Most of all, I don't know _why._ Why would he antagonize me like that for so long if this is how he feels? Baz must have had a good reason for this endless plot. Now I just need to know.

And I tell myself that's all. 

**Baz**

I still haven't processed how everything happened.

Snow wants to talk to me, but I'm not in the mood. Actually, right now I'm in the mood to be _wiped from existence._ The problem is that we're both stubborn as numpties, so he keeps chasing me around the garden, and I keep avoiding him like the plague. 

It all went down yesterday. If I had just kept my stupidly big mouth shut, this wouldn't be happening. But of course I had to make a sharp remark as a way of greeting him. After all, we'd just arrived at Watford after the summer. 

And I kind of missed Simon. Even the angry reactions my comments generally elicit from him. I just wasn't expecting the dumbfounded look on his face when I said that.

Stupid Snow. Stupid flower. And on top of it all, stupid _me._

**Simon**

I'm pretty sure Penny couldn't have predicted this. I mean, it would never have crossed my mind otherwise, so I don't see how she could have imagined this turn of events. 

After all, it was just an innocent flower. But thinking of it, Penny has ever been quicker than me when it comes to reading people, so maybe it was a test. We just didn't expect _him_ to pass it. 

_"Are you trying to prove I'm not in love with Agatha?",_ I asked when she explained to me the magical properties of the flower — I don't remember the name, but Penny said it has a different smell for everyone. 

" _Basically, this little flower smells like the person you're in love with_ ", she told me. It's even used in some love potions, something Penny had been studying over the summer. So, she brought me one. 

And I thought it would be a good idea to keep it at my room. _Our_ room, actually, because Baz had just arrived and was unpacking his things when I got there. 

" _What is it, Snow?",_ He asked mockingly. " _You suddenly decided to decorate the sty that's your part of the room?"_

That's when it all went wrong. Or when it went _right,_ I'm still trying to figure out. 

" _It was just a gift from Penny",_ I told him. I don't know why I bothered to answer. " _She says it's magical."_

His only answer was a roll of eyes. He was too focused on his luggage (there were at least two suitcases filled with hair products, I bet). 

_"Anyway. There's something about the flower's smell, though. It's funny..."_

_"Really, Snow?"_ He turned to give me a scornful look. Then he approached me defiantly, but I didn't back down. Baz snatched the flower from my hand, sniffling it. " _M_ _ust be because it smells just like you."_

And he went back to ignoring me, not knowing what it meant. 

I could have just let it go. But _no_ , I had to know for certain. 

So I went and, very cleverly, straight up asked him. 

**Baz**

Snow was waiting with a trap prepared for me, just after lunch. And I walked into it innocently, not knowing what was about to happen. 

Actually, no, this is just how tell myself it happened, because it's easier than admitting the ashaming reality.

" _First of all, Baz, I'd like to make it clear that I respect your boundaries and your right to privacy. Secondly, I have a question for you..."_

Well, no. Again, that's how I _wish_ he'd said it. It would be far more polite and I'd have had time to cast a silencing spell on him. Or to run. Anything would have been more convenient than our actual conversation, that went along the lines of: 

**Me** (walking naively into the room):

 **Snow** (subtle as a fucking numpty): Baz, is it true you have feelings for me? 

**Me** (sweating, but managing to keep my voice cool): Of course I do, Snow. I assure you no creature in this world makes me feel as repulsed as you do. 

**Snow** (masterfully coherent as always): Fuck off! I mean.. like.. non violent feelings... Like, you know! Friendly feelings!? 

**Me** (scoffing): Ha, absolutely not. 

**Snow** (already growling): Baz, I already know that's not true! I just want to understand why you treat me like this if you really like me! 

**Me** (heading out of the room and ready to set myself on fire): You seem to know everything that there's to know, so I don't need to carry on with this conversation. 

**Snow** (dumbfounded): You... You didn't even try to deny that you're in love with me! 

**Me** (twice as dumbfounded): I.. I never said such things! You have no proof to support this accusation! 

**Snow** (being a smartarse for the first time in his life): Well, I have this magical flower! 

And right now this exchange feels ten times dumber now that I'm thinking about it. The point is, my heart barely beats in my chest these days (due to vampireness and all, you know), but I swear it stopped while those words left his mouth and my mind processed them.

 _"Baz, this flower smells to you like the person you're in love with. And you just said it smells like_ me!" 

I thought I would combust right there and then. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. 

I analysed my options, with his lovely blue eyes glued to me all the time. Finally seeing me, everything I'd always tried to hide. 

This was all wrong. Time was not slowing down. Snow was not slaying me. We were just standing there in what turned out to be a shocked-staring contest. 

There was no easy way out, so I took the most familiar route and did what I usually do when he accuses me of being a vampire: act dismissively and aggressively. 

" _And what about it, Snow? Do you plan on outing me to the whole school? Do you think your mighty Mage would take this as an excuse to finally expel me from Watford?"_ I snarled at him. Snow was taken aback, looking too shocked to even get angry. My face twisted into a cruel smile and I raised an eyebrow at him, malicious. " _Or do you want to try a different approach now that we've figured this out?"_

And that was it. Snow turned red like he was about to go off, and I left the room. Easy like this. 

Except it's never easy to hurt him. I mean, it is what I have always done, but just because driving him away is the coward option. And I'm really good at it. 

But now I can't get rid of him, because Snow caught a glimpse of what I hold close to my heart, and he wants to know what it is. To touch it, even. I know because he waited for me to come back all night yesterday (I used a spying spell to check the room. I went back when he fell asleep on his desk chair). 

Now, he's chasing me around the Courtyard. I grit my teeth, getting angry for once. Why can't he just let it go and leave me alone? I ask myself if this is some kind of punishment for all the years I spent bullying him.

If it is, I probably deserve it. Maybe this is why I'm slowing down. Maybe this is why I don't keep running when Snow calls me. When he finally reaches me. 

**Simon**

I approach Baz slowly, tentatively, like he might bite (actually, I think he might). But I'm more worried about him running away again. He's faster than me, slender and far more graceful, so while I struggled to move in the festive crowd, Baz easily slipped away. 

Now, though, we're far from where most people are gathered. Actually, this specific spot is pretty private in comparison. There are just some children running along the line of trees behind us. 

"Baz!" I call, letting him know I'm here. "I just want to talk." I try to use a calm tone, but he's already snorting. 

"Don't worry, Snow, I noticed you following me all night." His disdainful look weighes over me and he raises a perfect eyebrow. "Just like the good old times, right?"

I falter as I stop in front of him, feeling heat pooling in my cheeks. Yeah, right, I know I spent a ridiculous amount of time following Baz on our fifth year, but... Well, this is something else. 

"Why can't you just talk to me for once?!" I ask him, flustered. I can feel my patience slipping away. _Why are you like this?_

That bloody eyebrow of his climbs even higher on his face. " _Now_ you want to talk like a civilized person?" 

That's it, I'm about to tell him to fuck off. But before I have time to open my mouth, something goes flying between us at rocket speed, leaving sparks behind it. Baz startles and jumps back, and I hear giggles on the background. 

Thankfully, mages don't use fire and powder to light the fireworks. Why would we, when magic explosions produce the same effect, but far more beautiful? I watch as more of them shoot across the sky, leaving trails of light and exploding in multicolored rains. We hear some ' **You just gotta ignite the light** 's and some ' **let it shine** 's from the crowd. 

When I turn to look back at Baz, he's composed again. He's not looking at me, though. His eyes keep averting from mine, instead following the comets summoned by magic. 

The way he looks, though... I have to look away for a moment to catch my breath. The way the fireworks' lights cast shadows on his angular face, the soft wind playing with his silky hair. Most of all, the surrender look on his grey eyes, and suddenly I realize they're locked to mine, again. 

This time much closer. 

Something you should know about Baz's eyes is that they're astoundingly grey. Not just _grey-_ grey, more like deep water grey, silver mixed with deep blue and vivid green. And that they're glassy like a water mirror, reflecting everything back to me.

Right now, I can see my stunned face in them. 

"What do you want, Snow?" He asks, sounding tired. 

"To talk." I say again. Then I'm stuttering, stumbling around the words. "I... I was thinking about... You know, about what you said. _Yesterday._ About us trying... A different approach?" I say, grimacing. It should be a statement, but I can't even put the right intonation into the words. 

It's Baz's turn to be taken aback. "About _what_?" 

"I... Hm.." I get distracted by the fireworks again. We hear screaming, and I see a large form flying upwards among the exploding lights. I think it's a kid. Someone must have cast a **Baby, you're a firework** on one of the students, and now there's a bunch of teachers running after him and trying to interrupt the spell before the boy explodes. 

"Hey. You used that spell on me once... In second year, I think." I say. I look over at Baz and he's nodding, a small smile touching his lips, almost fondly.

"I remember. It didn't work that well, though. It just turned your shoes into rockets and sent you flying over the inner gates." 

" _Just?_ " I'm trying to sound outraged, I swear. "I could have died! In, like, a dozen different ways." 

"Oh, please, Snow, I'm the dramatic bitch around here. You were having fun. I remember you and Bunce giggling afterwards." 

"That's called relief." I retort, barely managing to keep a silly smile from my face. It _wasn't_ funny at the time, but Penny and I laughed at it a lot later. Like, we still do sometimes. (I wouldn't like to repeat it, though). Those were simpler times, really. 

Now, he's lifting his wand to cast a spell once more. I flinch, but Baz isn't aiming at me. He just points it towards the sky and casts an **Even brighter than the moon**. 

Of course he would use the most flamboyant spell available for this kind of thing. He's _Baz._ A flash shoots across the dark, cutting the night in half. After a few seconds, the explosion lights up the sky, and it's clear as day. Then it wears off slowly, a bubble of light hanging high in the firmament for several minutes. 

Brighter than the moon, indeed. 

"Anyway." I shake myself, trying to concentrate. "What I'm trying to say is... We don't have to be enemies." 

Baz looks at me like I've just grown a tail. "And why the hell do you think this?" He hisses, but the tiredness in his voice cuts the effect. 

"Because, well" I begin, my face flushing. "Now I know you don't hate me. So what's the point of going on with this rivalry?" 

**Baz**

_What's the point, really?_

I'm speechless. I never am, it's just not my nature. I always have something to say, a sharp remark to make, words lashing out of my mouth every time I need them. 

It isn't the case right now, with Snow's big and eager eyes searching me for an answer. My spell is still fading, so I can see his face more clearly than before. 

Not that this is of any help. If anything, his lovely freckles now visible only make me even more miserable. 

Simon is so lovely it's overwhelming. His skin shines golden under the fireworks, his eyes are bright with hope, and his hair is not long enough to curl yet. I count the moles on his face, trying to slow down my heart rate (this is the faster it's been in three months).

He doesn't understand, though. _Knowing_ and _understanding_ are different things. There's more to this than what we want or how we feel, more than just love and hate. 

"You know, it's really bold of you to assume I _don't_ hate you." I say, plainly. He looks at me like I've just said something absurd. I can't help but scoff. "Yes, Snow, these feelings can coexist. As they frequently do. Most times one even deepens the other." 

He's mumbling something, though I don't hear what it is. I look away, because it's too much. I can't take that look in his eyes, again. 

It's weird, you see, there's nothing especially standing out about Snow's eyes. What impacts me every time is the way he _looks_ at the world: how those eyes come alive under his copper eyelashes, hovering over everything like a dragonfly. Light, agitated and bright. 

They're now landed on me. _Why,_ I whine internally, _still so hopeful?_

"But why can't we just try?" He asks, impatiently. 

"Try what, Snow? To be _friends?"_

"I don't know", he shrugs. "Maybe? Or maybe we could just... _Not_ be enemies... Somehow." He's blinking rapidly. Snow shakes his head, as if to better organized his words. "What about a truce?" 

I frown at him. "A truce?" 

"Yeah", he says. "Like, no more unnecessary fights. No more insulting. No more trying to _kill_ each other. What do you think?" 

"I never tried to kill you", I reply, crossing my arms. Snow immediately looks outraged.

"You punched me down the stairs!" 

"That was a miscalculation. I didn't intend to put so much force in that punch." 

"You..." his eyes are now widening. "You _forgot_ about your vampire strength?" 

_"Supposing_ I'm a vampire, as you always do," I retort, "yes. I forgot." 

I expect him to point at my face and start jumping around, yelling that I just admitted that I'm a vampire. But instead, Snow just looks at me for a moment, disbelieving, and then starts giggling. 

_Giggling._ Like a child. At my face. It goes on until the giggles evolve into a full-on laughter. Now Snow's laughing so much he's almost bending over. 

I takes all my superhuman strength to keep myself from smiling, and it just isn't enough. 

"Is this how you're planning on going on with this truce?" I ask him, and hate how cheerful I sound. "Because if it is, then I'm not going to accept it." 

"No, no! Sorry, Baz." He straights up and tries to catch his breath. "It's just that... Well. You're bloody perfect. It's not every day I have a chance to..." He trails off, still giggling a little. When Simon finally pulls himself together, he looks me in the eye again. "But seriously, Baz. What do you have against a truce?" 

I sigh. "Nothing. Aren't you forgetting something, though?" I'm close enough to nudge his shoulder with my own, but I resist the impulse. " _You_ also hate _me,_ Snow." 

This time he frowns. "Ah. Well." Simon bites his lower lip and I look away. "Actually... You were the one who started it." 

_"Me?"_ Now I'm really snarling, and it isn't even for the dramatic purposes. "I never asked to be your enemy." 

"Maybe not explicitly," Snow says, his index finger nudging my chest (we're _too close),_ "but you were mean to me from the very first moment we met."

"And?" 

" _And",_ he continues exasperatedly, "I was just defending myself." 

_"Ha._ Right." I snort. "What about all that times you came fuming into our room and accusing me of something I didn't do?" I ask. "Or yet, that times you kept following me around, pointing that sharp sword of yours at me?" 

"I, uh.. I was just giving like for like!" 

"Okay, that's fair." I concede. "What were the terms of this truce, anyway?" 

"Right. Most importantly, no more trying to kill each other. Not until the final battle, at least." He pauses, looking up on counting on his fingers. "Also, no more insulting or fighting. And..." His eyes light up, and so does the pathetic hope on my chest. "No more going after Agatha!" He finishes. 

I drawn in a sharp breath. Like, _really_ sharp and _really_ deep. This time I really can't help putting a hand on his shoulder, which seems to startle him a little.

"Let me just remind you, _Snow,"_ I say through gritted teeth, "that this whole conversation is happening just because you discovered about my... aforementioned feelings... for you." 

"Uh... Right." (Simon Snow, the Epitome of Eloquence). This seems to snap something in his mind, though, because Snow lifts his eyes to mine, a frown carved deep into his forehead. 

"What now?" I ask harshly, letting my hand drop off his shoulder. 

"It's just occurred to me that you're probably gay." 

This time I just huff out a laugh. "Not necessarily; but yes, I am." 

"Right." He says, nodding. "Anything you'd like to add?" 

"Actually, yes." I look deep into the eyes that are going to destroy me someday. "No more accusing me of being a vampire. Or of plotting." 

"I haven't accused you of plotting once this semester!" He says, throwing his hands upwards. 

"Which isn't really impressive, " I say, "considering I arrived _yesterday."_

He just shrugs. "I'm not so worried about your vampireness anymore, though. Now that I know you wouldn't hurt me." 

"You're assuming things, Snow. Again." A wicked smile settles on my lips. "Actually, now you should be twice as careful, you know? Considering that..." I talk slowly, licking my lips. "Well, you're appetizing to me in many ways." 

His face turns a lovely shade of red. He bends over again, looking at the ground like he's thinking about digging up a hole in the lawn and burying his head there. 

(I don't know what's wrong with me. It must be the low blood pressure.) 

"Okay", Simon says as he recovers. "No more doing this, too." 

"No more flirting?" I ask, raising my eyebrow in that way that makes him growl.

"Are you... Were.. I mean, this... _Flirting_ with me?" He struggles to ask, mouth agape. 

"Well, in a twisted way, I've been flirting with you for over two years." I say. I can't believe I'm saying it. ( _What's my problem?_ ) I'm probably disturbed. 

But Simon just laughs. Now he looks a lot less angry and a little more manic (I've probably short-circuited his brain). 

"Well, you really aren't the best at this." He says. Then he turns his gaze back to me. Sincere. Honest. "This is it, then?" 

"Yes, I think it is." I stick out my hand. "Truce?" 

Snow shakes it, nodding. We keep like this for some seconds that stretch forever, and when he finally lets go of my hand, his ears are red again. 

"There's only one more thing.", He says, looking unsure. "Why... If you felt like this... Why did you keep antagonizing me?" 

That's it. The difficult thing to say, the easy thing to do. As it's always been. 

"Because I find it amusing when you get angry." 

He looks at me unblinkingly. "... Really?" 

"Really. It always lights up my day to see you growling and slamming things around the school." 

"Fuck off, Baz!" He says, shoving my arm, but not hard. 

"Hey, no fighting means no aggression!" I say, pointing my finger at him the way he usually does to me. "You just broke the truce" 

_"What?"_ He exclaims, laughter behind his severe expression. "We've just come to an agreement! It's, like, the five minute rule." 

"It's five _second_ rule. Besides, the truce is now broken." 

"But it doesn't count yet!" 

"Look, it's all shattered on the ground." We walk as we talk. Like, we really walk together, just talking friendly. "It's your fault." 

"You're insufferable." 

"I'm genuinely surprised you know this word." 

Simon shakes his head, as a smile finds its way to his face. Blindly bright. 

We return to the Mummer's House as the fireworks become more and more scarce on the sky and the children go back to the dorms. We have class tomorrow. We...

I choke the hope rising up in my chest. That's all. We can talk friendly. We can walk together, and we can stare at each other from across the room, but that's all there is to _us._ Besides, it's not like Snow could... _like_ me. He can make an effort to tolerate me, which is a lot to ask for, already. 

It's better than I could have expected. 

And I tell myself it's enough. 


	2. Dancing in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz have been getting along well. Really well, actually. While Baz isn't sure how much he wants this to progress, Simon struggles to understand his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an absurd amount of pining and obliviousness in this.  
> There's also a Ball, Harry Potter's 4th year style, but it's only there for dramatic purposes (and for self-indulgence).

_December 13, 10 days to Winter Break_

**Baz**

Simon Snow bursts into the room, disheveled and panting, dropping his things on the ground. 

"I need your help!" I barely lift my eyes to meet his. I know if I do, I'm lost. (I'm always lost when it comes to him.)

"I'm sure Bunce can go with you in another imaginary chase after the Humdrum ." I answer sharply, doing my best to ignore him. This doesn't work anymore, though. Snow learned to read me _too_ well. 

"I'm not worried about the Humdrum!" Simon says, huffing and approaching my desk. "At least, not right now." He looks over my shoulder at the books open there and snatches the one I'm reading. 

"Hey!" I seize his sleeve, trying to get it back, but Snow holds it over our heads. 

"Looks like I have the high ground now, doesn't it?" He's grinning like an idiot. (A foolish grin. It's making my knees weak).

"You do realize I just have to stand up and that's over, right, Snow?" I quirk an eyebrow at him, but don't move (you know, weak knees). Instead, I just grab another book. And yet another one, when he snatches that too. 

"You're no fun." Snow huffs. Then he lets himself fall on his bed, making noise just to annoy me.

"Good. I'm not a clown." Ha. Like I wouldn't make one of myself for him. "Besides, you can't interrupt studying time. It's part of the truce." 

"But you said I could if it's a matter of life and death!" He analyses my books, turning the pages nonchalantly. I give him a sideways look, putting as much disdain as I can into it. 

"You're neither bleeding, nor on fire. And the Humdrum is not attacking us." 

"But...!" 

"I said I could make an exception in case of _immediate_ death risk." I cut him. However, I already know I won't to be able to concentrate for the rest of the day, so I give up. "What is it, though?" 

He sits up, that grin back on his face. It's so big it makes his eyes crinkle up. _Oh, shit._ I shouldn't have looked _._

"I need you to teach me the waltz." 

(This startles me. I try to keep my relationship with Snow friendly, but never letting him too close. We're not friends. We _can't_ be, and I'm constantly reminding myself why.) (He keeps pushing, though, trying to get closer. For some reason.)

I snort, and he frowns at me. Some habits are hard to drop, I guess. "Did Wellbelove give up on you?" 

"Hum.. yeah." His face falls, and I can barely hear what he says next. "In more than one way, I think." 

I frown. Of course I had to say the worst thing possible _._

"Why do you want to learn it, anyway? It's not a traditional ball. They probably won't even play waltz music." 

"Uh, I..." He shrugs, sitting cross-legged and putting my books aside. "I just thought it'd be nice to learn this fucking dance for once. So that Penny and Agatha stop making fun of me because of it." 

I give him my characteristic sneer. "But then _I_ wouldn't be able to make fun of you for this, either, so what's the advantage?" 

" _Please_ , Baz, don't be a git. I..." He huffs, mussing his bronze curls. "Just teach me the bloody waltz. Please." 

I know I'm damned at the moment I let his eyes capture mine. (They're big and pleading right now, like a puppy.) He's probably just trying to find a way to impress Wellbelove. I sigh. Of course.

"Okay, fine. Maybe some other day." 

"But the ball is in less than ten days!" 

Actually, I think this whole Winter thing is terrible. The Mage just made this shitty move to keep everyone distracted from the tension between his Coven and the Old Families. Which seems to be working, because the students can't stop talking about it.

"Don't worry, Snow, I promise I'm an excellent teacher. Besides, " I provoke him, "you can't be that much of a lost cause." 

He rolls his eyes, grunting. "You're probably going to need a miracle, then." 

I sigh. _You have no idea, Simon Snow._

These past few months felt miraculous in a way I can't even begin to understand. Being next to him like this, listening to his laughter, _making_ him laugh...

His eyes. His lips. His beautiful skin, golden and covered in moles. His voice when he gets excited. His soft curls, shaking around his head. 

_You're the best miracle I could ever ask for._

**Simon**

I think I broke Baz. 

Or, at least, I think I broke _through his armor._ Which wasn't exactly easy, but I managed it.

After all these years, finally. 

He's just been too cooperative lately. I mean, I think this is wonderful, but I'm still getting used to it. Sometimes Baz even helps Penny and me on our missions, trying to gather information that is useful against the Humdrum. 

"Why can't we just begin?" I ask, impatience seeping into my voice.

"I have football practice after lunch." He says, averting his eyes again. "But... I think we can start sometime before dinner." Baz tilts his head, thinking. 

He's not looking at me, instead focusing at the book, running one hand through his hair. It falls back smoothly, and for a moment I ask myself how that feels. (Touching his hair, just to see if it's as silky as it seems.)

I shake myself. Now that was a weird thought. 

Anyway, it still surprises me sometimes how we've got used to this so well. I mean, we _had_ a routine before, but it was all about avoiding each other. Now, everything is different, but also somewhat right. Way better than fighting. 

The way he tells jokes (that _aren't always_ about me), for example. His sincere smiles. Us talking normally, sometimes just shooting the breeze. Like this, it almost feels like we really know each other; like things have always been this way. 

Baz and I, acting like actual roommates. Like _friends,_ great snakes! 

Some things never change, though. Baz still keeps me at arm length, and he generally avoids talking to me in public. (We only ever look at each other from across crowded rooms, these days.) 

And we had a silent agreement to not talk about his feelings. 

The point is, I still don't know what to think of this. Not that it bothers me, of course; I'm just a mess when it comes to feelings. My own, most of all. 

That's why I avoid thinking about these things. But sometimes I ask myself if Baz regrets the truce. Or just falling for me. Or having ever met me in general. (I think Agatha does, though. Regret being my girlfriend, I mean, because now I'm not even sure she's ever fallen for me.)

"... _Snow?"_ Baz's voice jolts me from my thought spiral.

"Sorry, what?" 

"What were you daydreaming about?" He asks, a provoking smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and I feel my ears heating. It's the first time he's looked directly at me all day.

"I... Nothing important. Um.. I was just wondering if... " I trail off, frowning, then just pick the first thing that comes to my mind. "Won't we be late for dinner?" 

Baz snorts, shaking his head. "Don't worry about the food. I was saying we should meet at the kitchens near dinner time, and after some lessons we can ask Cook Pritchard to make something for us." 

I light up immediately, giving him a full grin. Baz looks away again. 

**Baz**

We go down to the kitchens one hour before dinner, and I keep assuring Snow he'll have enough time to eat. 

I still can't believe this is happening. That I'm _letting_ it happen. 

Fucking Crowley, I'm such a disaster. 

I should have thought this through. I should have figured what it mean. 

I'm going to teach Simon Snow the waltz. I'm a fucking _masochist._

We're going to _dance._ Which means getting close and touching him. Having to look at his eyes. Watching from a privileged spot as his face twists from nervous to impatient to frustrated. His lovely face, freckled and covered in moles. 

The worst part, though, is the heat that emanates from his body. I can feel it already just from walking close to him, like I'm standing by an oven.

This boy is going to end me tonight, I just _know._

Anyway, there's no escaping now. Not when he's looking around like this, nervously biting his lip, eyes wide. Expectant. And I'm the one he's directing that expectation at. 

We enter the kitchen, greeting the few people working there. Cook Pritchard is too busy to notice us now, but I know she'll come talk to me later (I've always been her favorite). 

I lead Snow to the back of the room, near to the cabinets. There's a door nearby, to the pantry. But instead of entering it, I just lean against the wall and observe the room. 

"Baz..." Snow is looking at me with that puzzled face of his, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted (utterly adorable). "Why are we here?" 

"Just get comfortable and observe." I say, confidently. He shrugs and leans by my side, our shoulders pressed. I contain a sigh. _Too comfortable._

But I don't move.

Nothing happens for some moments, and Snow starts tapping his fingers against the nearest cabinet.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" 

"Wait and you'll see." 

"All I see is my dinner being prepared, and I'm going to miss it." 

I chuckle, nudging his shoulder. "I told you, Snow, the food is guaranteed. Just relax and watch." 

"What is there to watch?" His brow furrows further. "Wait, how do these people prepare food for all of us? There's like, ten of them to a _three hundred_ of us."

"There are more people at the other kitchens. And—" I poke at his arm, "there's _magic."_

Right at this moment, Cook Pritchard leaves her spot at the balcony, plants herself at the center of the room and takes a look at the clock in the wall.

"Well, everyone." She claps to get the staff's attention, then points emphatically at the clock. "Seems like we're not going to make it in time. We've got forty five minutes!"

The assistants all nod, each of them grabbing a magical item. Taking the lead, Pritchard points to the cabinet beside Simon and casts: " **Be our guest!** "

He nearly jumps when the cabinet's doors burst open and the dishes come out flying. I choke on a laugh as Snow's haunted eyes follow the plates and cups' trajectory to the balcony. Then, one of the assistants casts **They can sing, they can dance!** , and the dishes move around, coming to life. There's flour pouring itself in bowls, and spoons stirring on their own. Pans and pots clash frequently, in a crazy, but rhythmical choreography. 

Simon's eyes are shining, and he doesn't seem to know where to focus his marveled gaze. So he turns it to me, of course. I'm taken aback for a moment, because... Well, he's gorgeous like this. I want to touch the crinkles around his eyes and boop his nose. I want to kiss his moles.

I want him so much it makes my heart ache. Right now, though, I don't care. I can't stop grinning. 

I just want to revel in this moment and have fun with him. Be close to him. 

"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" He asks, talking loudly. 

"Of course. She does this almost every day." I tell him, talking loud enough that he can hear me over the clashing pans. "This is going to establish our rhythm." 

"Wait, really?" Simon looks around carefully. "I hear no rhythm in this. I mean, it's bloody cool, but..." 

He's interrupted when everyone shouts in unison, holding up their wands and other magical items: **AND A DINNER HERE IS NEVER SECOND BEST!**

The spell hangs heavy on the air, accelerating the undergoing process. Snow's eyes widen even more when the food reaches perfectly cooked status in mere seconds. 

"Oh, look. We may have a chance, after all!" Cook Pritchard croons. I glance at the clock, smiling. Forty minutes to dinner.

"She always makes it in time." I tell Simon. He nods rapidly, dumbfounded.

"I _know._ I just didn't know they magicked the food. I mean, if I _had_ known..." I laugh, picturing Simon Snow neck-deep into a pile of sour cherry scones. He shakes his head, probably thinking the same thing. 

We wait some more minutes, just watching as the food cooks magically until I manage to get Cook Pritchard's attention. 

_"Basilton!"_ She approaches with a huge smile, reaching out to hug me. "Just look at you. And look at this _arms."_ She chuckles, tapping my shoulder, and right now I'm grateful for the vampireness (otherwise, I'd be blushing. Because Simon _is_ looking. Just so you know.)

I give her my most charming smile. "Good night, Mrs. Pritchard. I hope we're not interrupting your show." 

She clicks her tongue, patting my cheek. "Your presence is always a pleasure for us." Her eyes skip from me to Simon, and she releases me to take a better look at him. "Is this who I'm thinking he is?"

Unceremoniously, she grabs Snow by the chin and brings him forward, examining his face. He looks a little startled. "I'm..." 

"I _know_ you." I think she's trying to check on his teeth. "You're the boy who tries to inhale plain butter. And we had to double the production of scones these past few years because of _you._ " Simon's eyes widen and he swallows. I can't keep back a giggle. 

"I'm sorry, uh..." Simon stutters, looking at me desperately. "I just really, _really_ love your food." 

Cook Pritchard stares at him with the hard gaze she uses to keep children away from the kitchen. Then she bursts into laughter, patting his cheek. The change is so sudden that, even after she's pulled back, Simon keeps the pose, eyes alarmed and brow deeply creased, frozen in place.

"I suppose you want to use the Little Room." She says, approaching the door at the back of the kitchen. 

"Yes." I say, ignoring Snow's confused look once more. "I'm giving him some dancing lessons." 

She just nods and opens the door to the pantry. 

*******

The pantry at the kitchen is a normal one, narrow and used for storage. Behind the same door, however, there's another room, revealed only by a specific spell. It's a wide room illuminated by burning lamps on the walls, with a large table in the middle, surrounded by comfortable chairs. I chuckle again as Snow's jaw drops to the floor. 

"How... Fuck." Simon follows me as I enter the room, looking around, marveled once more. It amuses me sometimes how he's still blown away by magic, after all these years. "What is this place?" 

"This is a secret room. It's usually used as a kind of staff room, but Cook Pritchard lets me use it when needed." I start piling the chairs in a corner. "Help me with this, will you?" 

"What would you need a place like this for, anyway?" Simon asks, starting to push the table towards the back of the room. 

I wink at him again. "You know, things like plotting and dancing with dumbarses." 

He huffs at this, shaking his head. "I didn't know your dancing lessons were so requested." 

"Well, I did tell you I'm an excellent teacher." I smirk at him. "Anyway, this is the Little Room, as they call it. It's ever as big as it needs to be. Right now, it's large enough to fit twenty people." 

"Uh.. okay." He nods again, approaching me. "But there's only the two of us here." We're facing each other now, close enough that I could just reach out and grab his hand.

"I thought we'd need a lot of space to move around." I say, avoiding his eyes, which look bluer than ever, with the lamps' light flickering on them. Instead I focus on his chin. (There's a mole there). "So. Shall we begin?" 

"Right." Simon nods vigorously. "Let's do this."

**Simon**

I place my hand on Baz's shoulder and take his right hand in my free one. He freezes in place, totally dumbfounded.

We stand there like this for a moment, awkward, his other hand floating next to my hip. It's possible we aren't even breathing. Then time goes on and Baz laughs quietly, taking my hand off his shoulder and just holding it.

"Slow down, Simon. You must learn the basic steps on your own, first." He says, still not letting go of my hand. Still laughing a little. "Just listen for a moment, okay? Let the rhythm sink in." 

I try to, but the only thing sinking in right now is the coolness of his hands. And the glisten of his eyes. (They look almost golden with that light reflecting in them like this). 

After a moment, though, I'm able to discern a low pulse under everything, and the first thing I think is that it's my heartbeat. It takes me a moment to remember the dancing dishes on the kitchen outside. What was it Baz said about them? 

"Every living thing has got a pulse. Your heart. Magic." He presses my hand over my chest, and my heart thumps harder for emphasis. "The kitchen utensils are moved by magic, so they, too, follow its rhythm. And so does the waltz." His hands finally drop from mine and he takes a step back. 

"Just count with me." Baz snaps his fingers in tandem with the pulse. _One, two, three._ I nod along with it, catching the rhythm. It's not difficult, after all. "Great. Now I'm going to show you the basics". 

He stands with his feet at hip distance, and then takes a step forward with his left foot. The right one follows a moment later, and he brings them together. I watch carefully as Baz repeats the movement, this time reversing it and stepping back with his right foot first. 

"See how the steps form the shape of a box on the floor?" He repeats it, always following the thudding rhythm. "This is what we call a 3/4 tempo: four steps taken along three beats." 

I nod, and try to imitate him. It takes me a while to really get the steps right, but once I do, it's easy. Baz is patient with me, correcting any mistakes and encouraging me. 

After practicing for a while, he decides I'm ready to try with a partner. I'm nervous and already sweaty when Baz takes my hands again, so the chilly sensation of his skin is even more shocking (but also comforting, in a way). 

We position ourselves hesitantly, hands on hands and on shoulders. This is the closest we've ever been, and I can't quite process all the places we're touching each other right now. Baz's grip on me is firm, but he looks slightly flustered. 

It feels like there's static electricity running through my limbs. Our height difference is enough that he would have to bend down a little for our foreheads to touch. 

Baz lifts both eyebrows at me, our eyes locking for a moment (too brief). I nod once, and we start dancing. 

And it's a disaster. On the first time, we both step forward, so we're kinda smashed on each other's arms (I think Baz blushed a little, but it must have been the lights reflecting on his face). We just laughed and tried again.

And we keep trying, even though we're not going anywhere with that. We just move clumsily around the room, and it's more dragging than dancing. 

"I think I know what the problem is." Baz says when we stop after another failed attempt. 

"I lack motor coordination?" 

"You're too tense." He squeezes my shoulder. It's true, I suppose. I've been all hot and stiff since we started moving. 

"Sorry. I... I'm just nervous." I say, lifting my eyes to meet his. And they're there this time, surprisingly grey as always. 

"You don't have to be." Baz says, his hand slipping from my shoulder to my hip, and my breath hitches. "It's just me. All you have to do is follow me." He smiles, and I feel all the tension melting. "Come on, Simon. You're good at this."

We start again, and I keep my eyes glued to our feet. I can barely understand what's happening right now, so I just follow Baz's steps, imitating them like I'm looking at a mirror. It's simply mesmerizing how my movement's complete his. 

"Hey." Baz calls softly after a moment. "Stop looking down. Just look at me." 

"I'm..." I feel like I'm always looking at him these days. Like I'm searching for something out of place. 

I look at his face now, and something odd happens. Baz holds my gaze, and I feel my heart fluttering to the waltz rhythm. It's almost as if there's music coming from somewhere. I don't feel less nervous, but I do feel lighter, and when he guides me around this time, I just follow. 

It's almost like I'm floating. 

I've been feeling like this a lot lately, especially around him. Especially this night.

I can't quite put my finger on what it is. He's just been laughing too much today. And touching me. And letting me touch him, and look at him. And calling me _Simon._ (Don't even get me started on The Winking™.) 

We dance. We laugh. It's a kind of melody, a kind of magic. When we try a turn, I end up crashing against him again, almost falling butt first on the ground. 

But of course Baz catches me. He does every time.

And I still don't know what's happening. 

*******

"You were cheating." Baz says over a mouthful of scones. He's eating with one hand covering his mouth, as usual. "Don't think I didn't notice." 

"It was unintentional." I answer, just before attacking another scone. (I already drowned it in butter). 

Baz just shakes his head. He's not going to let me get away with this so easily. 

The thing is that I got so caught up on dancing that I lost control over my magic. When we realized, I was _really_ floating some inches above the ground, like Peter Pan himself. No wonder the dancing got so easy. 

"Shut up. _You_ just noticed when I got eye level with you."

"I was concentrated on the rhythm." Baz shrugs, gesturing towards the butter. I pass it to him. "Besides, I asked you to trust me, so I thought I could trust you as well." 

I roll my eyes, mimicking the way he used to do this with me. Baz just snorts, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

It was really worth it trusting him, though. Even if we did miss dinner, Cook Pritchard was waiting for us with a plateful of scones afterwards (and all the butter I needed). 

"So," I begin, buttering another scone, "how much did we progress today?" 

"Well, you managed to not break any limbs, so it's fine." He says, frowning. "But we need to practice more if you really want to dance at the ball." 

"Okay. Tomorrow, same place and time?" 

Baz nods. "We're probably going to do this all week." 

"Scones for dinner _all week_? Merlin, I should've considered a career in dancing earlier." 

He chuckles again. "It's good to see you've got your priorities sorted out, Snow". 

I shrug, and we just keep eating in a comfortable silence. It's a wonder we trust each other enough now to eat together like this, although Baz never lets me see his fangs (I think they're wicked). 

There are things I'd like to talk about with him, but I think they would probably break the light mood, so I just focus on my scones and try not to think. 

About our chests pressed together during the dance. About the fact that Agatha is probably going to break up with me. About why I'm really doing this, because I know I won't dance with anyone at the freaking ball. 

Most of all, I try to avoid thinking about how my heart is bursting with joy right now, and it's not because of the cherry scones. 

**Baz**

In the darkness of our room, listening to Snow's steady breath, I try to collect the pieces of my shattered heart. I know it's a waste of time, really, because I'm probably going to break it again.

To let Simon break it again.

I already knew this was coming, but I somehow underestimated the force of my feelings for him. Now they're flooding inside my chest, and it feels like I'm drowning. 

Or rather like I'm flying too high, where the air is rarefied, so breathing is difficult. Because I _do_ feel light, almost like I'm the one floating around. I'm still smiling.

I think about dancing with Simon, about how he got so enthralled by _me_ his feet literally left the ground.

I made Simon Snow float in the air. 

I know I shouldn't let it happen again. I know that nothing good can come out of this; that there's nothing for him here, with me. 

I know I can't really love Simon, not through the imminent war. So I try to remind myself about all the reasons why this is going to hurt us more than anything. About how our feelings don't really matter to the ones pushing us against each other.

I think about my family and the values they stand up for. I think about the Mage and his abusive regime. I think about how they all expect us to kill each other.

And yet... 

I opened my heart to Simon. Just a little, but then he slammed the door open like a hurricane, claiming everything, wrecking such havoc I'm not sure I'll ever recover. (If I do, I'll probably let him in again.) 

I can't keep myself from loving Simon Snow, and I can't love him from afar anymore. So maybe we can just... Go on like this. Being friends. It's still better than fighting, better than _nothing._

I know it's a lie, though. A false hope. 

I cling to it nevertheless. 

* * *

_December 22nd, the Winter Ball_

**Simon**

Penny smoothes my lapel for the thousandth time before we enter the White Chapel. 

"Stop this." I say, trying to free myself from her hands. "It's already perfectly aligned." 

"It would be, if you just stopped pinching it!" She scolds me, slapping my hand away. "I don't know why you're so nervous, Simon. It's not like the Humdrum is going to show up and ask you for a dance."

"Being prepared for the worse is never too much." I say, rolling my shoulders and trying to steady my breath. I don't want to go in just now.

Penny just huffs and crosses her arms. Her expression softens after a moment, though. (I must look really wrecked.)

"Do you think they'll be there?" I ask, biting my lip. 

"Agatha and the Humdrum?" 

" _Baz_ and the Humdrum." 

Penny shrugs. "I just hope it's not all three of them." 

"Yeah. I probably wouldn't survive this." 

Any other day, we would be laughing. Today, though, the silence hanging over us is too heavy. Neither of us know how to deal with this. 

"Okay, let's do this already." Penny takes my arm and drags me across the Chapel's doors.

*******

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star._

It's all I can think as we enter the White Chapel. 

Well, I did know about the spell, though I never imagined it could be used like _this._ They must have cast the whole song in a chorus to achieve such effect. 

"Nicks and Slick." I hear Penny gasp beside me. By the way, she's my official partner for the ball. "And they say _I_ waste magic." 

"I don't think this is a waste." I say, looking around the starlit room. "I think it's beautiful." 

The Chapel's nave was turned into a ballroom: the benches have been removed so that we could settle a dance floor, which takes most part of room, and there are tables around it, and some more outside. But that's usual business; what makes everyone's eyes widen in awe is the decoration.

I don't know what kind of spell they used on the floor, but it looks like we're stepping on clouds. They move through the floor like a hologram, cottony and stained in gentle shades of pink and blue, like the sky just after sunset. 

And there are the stars, of course. They fill the room, so it's like walking through some sort of diminished galaxy, these little lights dancing around and touching us. I try to catch one in my lips, and it's like kissing a burning match. (It doesn't hurt, though.) 

"I'm going to find a table for us." Penny says, pretending she didn't notice. "Then, I really expect you to ask me for a dance. You know, to see if all those lessons were worth it." 

I shake my head, thinking about last week. Baz did keep his promise to make me a proper dancer. l look for him on the crowd, feeling suddenly nervous. I haven't talked to him since what happened yesterday. 

That's when I spot Agatha in the crowd.

She looks stunning. Her gown shines like snow when it reflects sunlight, a pure white. It's like she was made for this magical sky, to be among these stars. 

I sigh. This just reminded of our last conversation, yesterday. That her place is not by my side. 

"You should really talk to her." Penny whispers, squeezing my arm. "I'll wait for you at the table." 

I nod, and then start walking up to her. Agatha. 

I repeat silently everything I intend to tell her, even though I know I'll have forgotten everything by the time I open my mouth. 

She's not looking at me as I approach her, so I a moment to hesitate before reaching out.

"Aggie?" She startles a little when I touch her elbow, slightly. I back down immediately. "Sorry. I.. I just want to talk to you." 

Agatha compresses her lips, turning to me. She looks... Shy, I think. "I hope it's not about my decision, Simon. I'm not going to rethink." 

"No! I mean, actually—" I swallow hard, desperately looking for the words. "I just need to get some things right with you, okay? The way I reacted yesterday, well... I don't want things to end like this. For us."

*******

I spot Penny on a table at the back of the room, but instead of going there, I keep walking around. I just need a moment to cool down and think. Actually, I _haven't_ been thinking about a lot of things lately. Now seems about the right time to face some of them.

 _"I don't want a happy ending, Simon. I want a_ beginning."

The thing is that, for a long time, I thought that when (if) I defeated the Humdrum ( _and survived_!), everything would be fine. All my problems would be gone, and I'd finally have the chance to _live._

_"You don't get it. Things are already happening, Simon, the world is not going to wait for you. Your life has already begun."_

Now that fantasy is gone, and so is my certainty. Now, it seems like there's nothing waiting for me at the end of the line (or rather, like the line is endless.) There's no sunset in which to walk into. 

I end up as lost as I feel, so I just lean against one of the columns and look around. I'm about to go back to Penny's table and just have an emotional breakdown when I spot him. 

Baz. Just Baz, at the far end of the room, looking elegant and beautiful as always. He's wearing a deep green suit, his black hair perfectly slicked back. 

Our eyes lock for a moment. He must be able to tell how unsettled I am, because his expression softens almost immediately. He holds my gaze, and for a moment I feel...

Well.

I feel like a ship that's been adrift for a long time and has finally caught a glimpse of light in the stormy sea. 

Then, comes a kind of realization. I don't know how it never occurred to me before this moment (except it did. Several times.) I think about all the things that are already happening. About the beginnings. I think about the boy I once considered an enemy. 

Baz was there for me yesterday. This whole week, with our pointless (and amazing) dancing lessons. 

These past _months,_ really. 

I go to him. 

**Baz**

I stare at Simon Snow as he crosses the room, coming in my direction. I want to run. I don't know in which direction, though, because Snow's dragonfly eyes are disturbing my senses, so I just stand there very still, waiting for him. 

(Logic tells me I should be running away as fast as my superhuman speed allows me. But my heart urges me to run on the opposite direction. To his arms. To comfort him.) 

He looked so lost a moment ago, wandering around the room as if he couldn't see anyone here.

"Will you be okay?" I ask as soon as he reaches me and we start walking out of the building. 

"Yeah." Snow sniffs. He doesn't look so fragile anymore, though. "Eventually." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask cautiously. He's handling this much better than yesterday, but I don't want to upset him even more. Again.

Agatha broke up with him yesterday. I don't know the details, but when I got to our room after football practice, Simon was about to go off. His magic was so thick in the air I could smell it from outside the building, and some people around were getting nauseous.

I didn't know what to do. None of my spells could calm him down, so I just did the most desperate thing that came to my mind at the moment. Which was crushing Snow against my body. 

I mean, it wasn't really that shocking, considering the week we just had, full of dancing lessons and, consequently, physical contact. 

That just felt like the final blow to me: Simon sobbing on my shoulder. My fingers caressing his soft curls. I even whispered comforting nonsense to him, for Crowley's sake. 

And we stood like that for hours, just clinging to each other, before I could get him to eat. Before his magic stopped boiling under his skin and its sulfuric scent dissipated. 

"How are you feeling?" I ask now, breaking the prolonged silence. 

"A little better." He says, sighing. "I mean, it still feels like I'm on shipwreck. Like Titanic, but in the scene with the board." 

"It was a door." I say, as we walk across the courtyard, towards the Wall. "Besides, I don't know if I can really help you. I was on the same boat." 

"Does it mean you're Jack and I'm Rose?" 

"I'd rather be Rose. You know, I would freeze to death much faster than you on the water." 

It's a relief to hear him laugh. His eyes are still sad, though. 

"I..." Simon sighs again. "How do you deal with this everyday? With these feelings, you know. Being so close to something, and wanting it _so much_ , but still you can't... Reach it." He's looking forward, over the Wall.

I know what he's talking about, but it still startles me a little. It's just that, well, we never talk about this. We just _don't_. Especially not so bluntly.

I try to avoid the question by asking another one. "And what is it you want so much, Snow?" 

Simon presents me with a shy smile. "I think I'd just like to have a normal life. Like, not _Normal_ , just..." he trails off, looking back at the school. 

"Not having to risk your life everyday?" I suggest. "Or not having to fight a war. Or even, maybe, not having a dark creature as your roommate?" 

This makes him laugh. "You're not _dark_ , Baz. I know it takes you a lot of effort to maintain this facade, but deep down inside you're a softie." 

"Careful, Snow." I sneer at him, baring my teeth. "I could drain you right here and throw your body to the merwolves." 

"I bet you could." Simon rolls his eyes at me. That's it, we've both lost any sense of self-preservation. "Anyway, you didn't answer me."

"What was it you asked?" 

"How do you cope with wanting something you can't have." 

I sigh heavily. "Apparently, I take my problems on romantic walks to secluded places late at night. Oh, and sometimes I give them dancing lessons, too." 

Simon grins, almost as cheerfully as usual. "A walk under the moonlight, with view to a breathtaking landscape. Very romantic, indeed." 

I huff. "I do what I need to cope." He just nods, and we fall silent again. 

I know this comfortable silence is dangerous. It makes me forget that I can't really hug Simon and tell him things are going to be alright. Right now, though, I push these thoughts aside. Another dangerous thing to do, but it's not important now.

Simon Snow is more important than anything else at this moment. 

"It's just that..." He begins, hesitantly. "I had an idea of how things should happen. Now, though, I'm clueless. It's like I'm suddenly blind, because the future I expected doesn't exist anymore. So, I'm just... Stumbling around in the dark." 

I laugh a little, disbelieving. "Snow, that's just what future looks like to everyone." I say, looking at him. "We make plans, and they go to hell, and we try to carry on, somehow. Stumbling... Or rather _dancing_ in the dark." I sigh. "But it gets easier, I suppose, when you have a good partner."

He nods again, and then smiles. "I know. Thank you, by the way. For yesterday." 

"It's fine. Let's take you back to Bunce. She must be worried with you by now." 

"She must be _furious._ " Simon grimaces, "I promised her a dance. You know, just to prove your lessons were really effective." He shrugs.

" _What_? She doubts my teaching abilities?" I manage to sound perfectly offended. 

"Actually..."

"Come on, Snow, let's show Bunce your gracious waltz." We both laugh at this, because Simon is gracious as a numpty. Right now, though, I don't care if he crushes my feet and my heart. I just want to cheer him up.

I'm so, so fucked. 

This is the boy who is going to kill me. Then, he'll scatter my ashes over the treetops at the Wavering Wood. 

And yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
> I can't express how happy I was with all the comments on the first chapter. You're so kind! I hope this one lived up to your expectations (or even surpassed them!)  
> Also, I'm on Tumblr now, too! You can check out if you want at @nightimedreamersworld


	3. Love Love Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz just came back to school after Winter Break, and Simon can't wait to tell him about some things he figured out.  
> Things don't go as expected, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like I should warn you: here comes the aaaaangst (I've always wanted to say this lol)  
> But not much because I'm not evil

_January 6, Watford, 7th year._

**Simon**

I'm watching the football practice for the first time in a while. 

It's just that I've been avoiding the pitch these past months, so I kinda forgot how much I love football, and how thrilling the sport is (even if it's just practice). 

This one is particularly thrilling, though, because it's also the first time I see Baz in a while.

Penny and I arrived yesterday. I spent Winter Break at her house—her mother wasn't really happy, but I think she took pity on me. (It would be really awkward to go to Agatha's house.) 

Anyway, today was the first day of the new term, but Baz wasn't in class this morning. Turns out he only arrived after lunch, and when I got to our room he had already left for practice, without even unpacking his things. 

I sprinted to the pitch, feeling just like I did on the morning of my first proper Christmas. 

(Silly. Hopeful. Unbelieving, most of all, because something is about to happen. Something wonderful, too good to be true.) 

Now, I'm watching Baz run across the field, fast and strong as always. He's our best player, hands down, and watching him play is like witnessing a beautiful massacre (he's fucking ruthless). 

And when this ruthlessness is not directed at me, I actually find it amusing to watch him. 

(I already watched Baz a lot before, anyway. Now, though, I don't need to grimace every time he touches the ball, and I can actually root for him.)

There's a collateral effect, though. When watching Baz like this, I feel... I don't know. Flustered doesn't sum it up. I just get all hot and flushed, my skin prickling, warmth pooling in my belly. 

(I didn't know why, but it unsettled me in a way nothing else did.) 

Now, as if to further prove this point, Baz stops (after scoring once more) to wipe the sweat from his face. With the _hem_ of his shirt. Which gives me a good view of his belly (he's got _abs_ , for fuck's sake), and I can feel my insides twisting. 

I sigh, and there's a smile tugging at my lips. 

(Now I know why. Now I understand).

And I want to tell Baz... To see where this goes. 

Because I had a lot of time to think about this during Winter Break. Actually, I couldn't _stop_ thinking about him. 

It was like squinting at an horizon of infinite possibilities.

**Baz**

The rest of the team heads to the showers as soon as practice is over, but I decide to stay a little longer. I could try to lie and tell myself that it's because I missed this soft grass, but it's useless. I'm way past denial by now.

(Because he's here. Of course he would be. That beautiful disaster.)

I kick the ball across the field, and it lands by Simon Snow's feet. 

He's smiling. (A smile this bright and wide should be prohibited by law.) Snow starts walking toward me, weakly kicking the ball ahead until we're just some feet apart.

"Uh... Hey." Simon says, scratching the back of his head. He looks excited and anxious, though I can't quite see why. 

"Hey." I say, smirking at him. "Fancy a one to one match?" 

"I thought you wouldn't ask." He strikes the ball harder and starts running after it across the field. My mouth twists into a wider smile against my will, but how can I help it? I set off after him, chuckling.

It's not difficult to keep up with Snow. Not that he's a bad player, I just have more practice and vampire endurance. I quickly steal the ball from him and start running on the opposite direction. 

We continue like this for a while, trying to steal the ball from each other and strike goals (even though we haven't defined which one is whose, so we just strike on them both). 

"How was Winter Break at the noble Pitch Manor?" He asks, panting. Now we're just passing the ball back and forth, trying to catch our breath. 

"I was bored to insanity." I say, walking backwards and toying with the ball, just to show off. 

"Nobody there for you to annoy to death?" Simon smiles provokingly. 

"Actually, I have siblings. I'm teaching them the ancient art of being little shits." 

Snow laughs at this. "Of course. You're an expert on the matter." He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side, scrutiny furrowing his brows. "Anyway, it was just this? You didn't even... miss anything?" 

"Want to know if I missed _you_ , Snow?" I ask suggestively, wriggling my eyebrows. 

"Did you, though?" His face is tinted pink by the dusk light. (Breathtaking). (Of course it isn't hope shining on his eyes. He's just mocking me). 

"I'm not this pathetic, Snow." I snort. I _am_ this pathetic, and also a liar. (I missed him like hell). 

Snow just shakes his head, putting on a smugy face. "Of course." 

I'm distracted, hands on my hips and totally off guard, so I don't react when he attacks once more. 

It's worth mentioning, again, that this moron I've fallen for is the most clumsy mess to ever walk over the Earth. So, when he tries to steal the ball from me (a bit too forcefully), we both end up on the ground in a mess of tangled limbs. 

"How..." Snow is on top of me, his weight compressing my chest, and I huff out a laugh (that was last bit of air in my lungs.) "Get off, I can't breathe. Get off!" 

The bastard is chuckling, too, but he eventually propels himself on his elbows, giving me space to breathe. He doesn't get up, though. Instead, Snow just keeps hovering above me, his eyes locked on... (Wait. Shit.)... On my _mouth_. 

"What are you...?" Before I have time to conclude, Simon closes his eyes and slowly lowers his head. My eyes widen and my breath hitches.

Our noses brush. 

(His breath smells like butter). 

What. The.

 _Fuck_. 

**Simon**

For a moment, my mind goes blank.

So blank it takes me a minute to process what is happening when Baz shoves my face away and crawls from underneath me frantically. 

"What the hell, Snow?!" He practically shouts at me, stumbling farther away. I'm so shocked by the look on his face that I don't even try to get up. 

"I'm, I'm... I just.. sorry." I stutter, but there's no way out of this. It's the kind of situation one doesn't simply explain or understand, it's supposed to just... Happen, I don't know. "I wasn't thinking."

"You wasn't... Ha. Of course." Baz laughs a little hysterically, and now I'm really creeped out. It sounds nothing like him; never once, in all these years, I've heard him laughing like this. (There have been mocking laughs and cold laughs, disdainful and amused, smug and some genuinely happy laughs.) 

But never this broken, high-pitched sound. 

"I mean, I thought you... Wanted this?" I try, looking at the grass, because I can't stand to look at his face. (I'm afraid of what I'd see there. Maybe I misunderstood everything. _Again_.) 

"Why are you asking me _now_?" Baz retorts, and I can't remember the last time I heard this edge on his voice. "You already made all the wrong assumptions, like always." 

"I don't know!" I'm shouting now, frustration and magic boiling under my skin. "I just wanted to do it!" The moment felt so right...

But Baz is fuming, shaking his head so hard I'm worried his neck might snap. Suddenly, he seizes my collar and pulls me forward, close to his face, forcing me to look into his eyes. 

What I see there, though... Is not anger. Not even remotely. For a moment, I feel so astonished that even my magic fades away. 

Baz's expression is hard, his eyebrows knitted and his jaw tight. His eyes, however, are full of hopelessness, bright with tears. 

"And _why_ —" He chokes out, clutching my shirt tighter. "Why would _you_ want to kiss _me_?" 

"Because..." I swallow, trying to get the words out, the right words. It feels like there's sand on my mouth, on my throat and going into my lungs as I breathe. "Because I'm in love with you, Baz." 

We're so close, breathing each other's breath. Close enough that I can see realization dawn upon him. 

Baz looks thunderstruck, like I've just punched him in the gut. His face goes blank and paler than ever, and his eyes... They're empty. 

(It's like he's looking at me from a long distance. Like suddenly he's not right _here_ , but rather somewhere else, far and unreachable.)

"You're not." Baz says, and his voice is empty, too. "You're just craving attention since Wellbelove broke up with you." Then, he shoves me away again and gets up to leave. 

"What... Fuck, Baz, that's not it!" 

"What else could it be?" He snarls. "Two weeks after breaking up with her, and you're already over Agatha?!" 

"That was different!" I shout, getting up. "I never really... _Felt_ that way. About her" I bite on my lower lip, recalling all the times Penny scolded me about this. "Not how I feel about you." 

He snorts at this. "You almost blew up the whole school because of her, for Crowley's sake!" 

"Yeah, and you were there to stop me!" 

Baz keeps shaking his head, looking away from me, like he's struggling to believe I'm saying such nonsense. (Actually, I think he doesn't _want_ to believe.) 

"Just do what you do best and stop thinking about this, Snow." He says, turning his back on me. 

"What... Wait! Baz—" But he's already running away from the pitch. To the Catacombs, maybe, or even to our room. I'm ready to go after him, but...

I'm still boiling—with magic and anger and confusion. There's a haze of red around me, quite literally. Now isn't the right time to have this conversation. 

I need to cool down.

So, I just let myself fall back on the grass, facing the purplish dusk sky. I can't even begin to understand how everything turned out so badly. 

A minute ago, we were having fun, running around and laughing with each other and it just felt _right_. Like everything that happened these past months was leading to this—like we were on the lift hill of a roller coaster, slowly ascending, anticipation building up in our stomachs. And now, we'd finally reach the peak...

I guess we did, somehow. I guess we're now going down. 

**Baz**

This can't be happening. 

I'm running as fast as I can, like I should have done that night at the ball. 

_This can't be happening._

(Or back in September, at the picnic.)

Snow wouldn't be so stupid as to let it happen. Not as stupid as _me_ , anyway. 

_Or so I thought_. Somehow, he managed to be even more stupid, letting it happen _and_ thinking we could act on it. 

All because I gave him hope. 

I'm panting hard as I go down to the Catacombs, probably startling all the rats down here. I don't care, I just need to get lost. 

Chances are Snow will try to follow me, so I wander around the labyrinthine chambers for a long time, until I'm sure he won't be able to find me. (Until I'm sure _I_ won't be able to get out easily.) 

Here, in the indifferent dark, I finally collapse. I lean against a wall and let myself slip down to the floor. Silent sobs come up my throat, ripping through my chest. I can't breathe, and I don't care. 

There's nobody here to judge me, not even the bloody rats. The only sounds filling the dark are that of my sobs, and the only thing filling my mind is Simon Snow. 

I don't care, I _don't_. 

I didn't care when I decided to be his friend, did I? I didn't care as I got closer and closer to him, promising things I could never give. 

Like when I promised Simon I'd be there when he needed me, guiding him through the dark. Or when I kept flirting with him, or when I showed him so much of _myself_... 

I gave him all the crumbs, these little bits of hope, and now he came looking for more, but there's nothing. 

I bang my head against the wall. I didn't stop to think about how he might feel—the idea that he might fall for me seemed impossible in the way dreams usually are, so I never considered it. 

I let out a strangled, ugly laugh and it turns into a sob halfway out of my mouth. Maybe I'm actually the villain. A crook, really.

All this time, I was so worried about Simon breaking my heart that I never realized I'd stolen _his_. 

* * *

**Simon**

I've been trying to talk to him for days.

I decided it was better to give Baz some time, you know, but after he didn't come back to our room for three nights in a row, I started to get nervous. 

It's been a week now, and I'm really worried—I didn't think it was possible to screw something up _this_ badly, even for my standards.

I see him during the meals, far across the room, and there are so many people between us. He won't look at me even then. 

( _Always so far and so close at the same time. He's right there, just out of my reach_.) 

I see Baz at classes and try to sit as close to him as I can. I try to talk to him, to touch his shoulder. When the class is over, though, I never manage to reach him before he heads out to the next one, and I'm never fast enough to catch up with him on the hallways. 

So all is left for me to do is look at him.

I do it furiously, intently, and I've even tried putting magic into my stare. I doesn't work; he just goes on pretending I don't exist. 

I expected this to anger me, the way he's acting, like nothing ever happened between us... But I can't really. It's mostly my fault, after all, and I can't get the sight of his face off my mind—the way his expression sank and his eyes got lost (to me, at least) on that moment. 

(I still can't understand why. Isn't this what he's always wanted?) 

I don't give up, though. I keep trying just about anything to get his attention, to get him to _look at me._ To just talk to me, fucking Merlin! 

Because I want to apologise. Because I miss him. Because I've wanted this for so long... (To be his friend? Something more? Be near him, that's for sure.) (Be _with_ him.)

I can't lose this now. I can't just let him slip away from me. And, honestly, I'm tired of waiting for things to mend themselves on their own. 

We're at breakfast, and I'm seriously tempted to just walk up to Baz's table and force him to stop ignoring me (even if it means I'll have to pick a fight with him.) 

Baz must sense I'm up to stupidity, because he looks at me as soon as I stand. When our eyes lock, it's like everyone else disappears. It's just the two of us then, and it feels like there's an ocean between him and me.

I want to get him back already. 

*******

When he comes into our room late at night today, I almost fall back from my desk chair in the rush to get up. 

" _Baz_!" I whisper (kinda yelling, but anyway). 

"Don't make a fuss, Snow." He whispers back, though it sounds a lot like hissing. "You're going to wake the whole building."

"Sorry, I just... really wanted to talk to you." 

Baz huffs. "Yeah, I noticed you breathing down my neck all week, Snow." He snaps, turning his back on me and heading to the loo. 

"Wait!" I try to grab his arm, but Baz swerves and looks at me scornfully. It startles me so much I take a step back. 

"What?" 

"I just want to know what's going on!" I say, frustrated. 

He sighs, and I frown. "Fine. It's about time we put an end to this." 

"I... _What_?" I frown even deeper, gaping at him. "I just wanted to apologise!" 

He shrugs. "Keep your babbling to yourself, Snow, I don't need any apology." Baz crosses his arms. (He looks so annoyed—what in bloody hell did I do so wrong?) "Actually, I think we should forget all of this. The truce, whatever happened last term."

"What— _why_?" I gasp, my head spinning. "What the _fuck_ , Baz, just because I tried to kiss you?" 

He snorts. "Not at all. I just think this is a distraction neither of us need." 

I shake my head as anger starts filling me up. _Not now, not now._

"Why are you being like this?!" It makes no sense. Nothing _ever_ makes sense. "What did I do wrong?"

"Oh sorry, I forgot. You're Simon bloody Snow, the Chosen one, who needs everyone's lives to spin around you so that you feel valid." His condescending tone hits me hard like a punch. "You didn't do anything wrong. You don't even _need_ to, I just don't want this anymore." 

I growl, and it takes me a lot of effort to not pin him against the wall and break his nose again. (Or maybe kiss him.) 

I know what he's doing, though. His voice is too nonchalant, so I know he's just pulling an act. It's that tone Baz uses when he wants to hurt me, but doesn't mean it. 

It's what he's always done, and I used to fall on this trap every time. Not anymore, though. We've played this game for six years, and by now I know the rules too well.

This time I won't rise up to the bait. I'll stand my ground. 

"Look, Baz, you can stop acting now. I'm not having any of this, and I won't let you get away with it!" I say decidedly, clenching my jaw. 

But he just sneers. "You doubt my words, Snow? You think you know how I feel?" Baz takes a step towards me, and though I can barely see his face in the dim light, I can see his dark look. 

"I know what you're feeling, Baz. I tried to tell you!" My eyes don't ever go away from his. (I can do this. I can fix it). "I _know_ , because I feel the same..." 

"Of course, because you know _everything_ about me, don't you, Snow?!" He shouts at my face, and it's so unexpected I jump back. His eyes are sharp as daggers and his look cuts straight to my heart. "' _You're a monster, Baz.' 'You're a liar, Baz.' 'You're in love with me, Baz.'_ So let me tell you something you _don't_ know, Simon." 

His fingers sink into my shoulders, and I don't dare moving. (I'm not even breathing. My throat is too tight). 

"Do you remember," Baz begins, through gritted teeth. "the night of the picnic. When you asked me why I chose to be your enemy." His face is deeply distorted by anger, his teeth bared in a snarl, and his eyes bright with tears. 

I can only nod. He nods once, too. "Do you still want to know why?" 

"Baz—" His face is so close to mine.

"It was easier." He says simply. "I couldn't love you, so I figured it would be better if you thought I _hated_ you." Baz breathes in sharply and his grip on me tightens painfully. "So I hurt you to keep you away. I didn't want to, I was just confused and I have always been a coward, and I was trying to protect myself." 

"Baz..." The tears are rolling down his face now, and all I want is to wipe them. Instead, I grab his wrists and pull his hands away from my shoulders. "We're way past that. Now, we've found something _good_ on each other, Baz. What we have..."

"We have _nothing_ , Simon." He says sharply, yanking his hands from mine and pulling away again. "You're not getting it." 

"I'm not, really!" I shout, throwing my arms up. "Why can't you just _explain_?" Shit, I thought we were finally getting somewhere. 

" _We can't have anything!_ " He cries out, shaking his head. "We can't, Simon. We're meant to be enemies. To—" he chokes on a sob. (The sound breaks my heart.) 

" _Why not_?" I demand, and I'm choking, too. Shit, What kind of fucking nightmare is this? The night hasn't even begun. 

"Because they want war, Simon." He says, and everything in his voice—the anger, the sadness, the frustration—starts to fade into tiredness. "The Mage and the Old Families. They want war, and they plan on using us as weapons." 

I'm baffled. Of course I know about all the political tension. It's been going on for _years_. Though I simply forgot... It's implications. For us.

"This is it, then?" I ask, and it comes out harsher than I intended. It's Baz's turn to frown. "You're willing to give up on your feelings—your choices, on _us_ —because of them?" 

He scoffs. "Would _you_ stand up against the Mage for me, Snow?" 

"You know what? I would." I say, and it's only a half lie. "Actually, I think that we can avoid the war. If we can just show them—" 

"What? The power of our love?" He rolls his eyes, though they're still puffy. "Sometimes it surprises me how you're still so attached to fairy tales, Snow. True loves and Happily ever afters." Baz shakes his head like he's just gave up on me. 

I'm not going to give up on him so easily, though. 

Because there was a time when I thought our futures would resume in some sort of final battle—and only one of us would come out alive. Now, though, that's so far behind I can't remember what it was like to live in a world where I'd have to kill Baz, or die by his hands.

And I'm not ever going back there. 

"Maybe it's true." I say, pushing past him. "But I'm still going to fight for you." Even if it means fighting _you_. 

I storm out of the room and bang the door on my way. Down the stairs, I can hear angry shouting—we did wake up everyone on Mummer's.

It's only when I get to the bottom of the tower I realize that I have nowhere to go. 

**Baz**

I thought that fight would be the end of the line for us. I thought I had ruined everything, any chance there was for him to want me. (I still can't believe he _wants_ me). 

I thought my torment was finally over—even though keeping him away and hurting him are the worst kinds of torture I could put myself through. 

(It's necessary. We really can't go on this way. We've already crossed too many lines, went too far.) 

Simon at least stopped chasing me around the school. I avoid looking at him at all costs—especially when we're in the room (it's the closer I get to him now).

It's almost like the old times: We walk around each other like the ground is made of shattered glass. (Well, at least _I do_. Snow walks like a bloody numpty—stomping and kicking the sharp fragments at _me_.)

We haven't talked again—not even once, all week. And I'm starting to hope that, maybe, we never will.(That I won't have to face him again. To break his heart, once and for all.) 

Though there's something worth knowing about Snow: he's a tireless fighter. No matter how many times he goes down, Simon always gets up. 

He's always true to his word. He's also headstrong as fuck, and too courageous for his own good.

So of course Snow wouldn't give up. _Ever_. 

Not even on me. 

*******

The room is dark, but not totally. There's moonlight seeping through the open window, dim and shy, and I'm facing Simon Snow's bed. 

I can see his face. He's looking back at me, though I know _he_ can't see anything. He looks tentative, worrying on his lower lip in the way that used to brighten my day. 

Now it just reminds of everything I can't have. 

Simon sighs and shifts on the bed, laying on his back. I think there's something shining down his face, and—shit, I can't believe I did this to him. 

I've made him cry before, especially on our first years—out of frustration and anger, or even pain. But I've never seen tears like these on his face, in his eyes. These are quiet, made of melancholy.

He wipes them abruptly and sniffs. 

(I keep completely still and pretend to be asleep.) 

" _I miss you, Baz_." He says, so softly that it's less than a whisper. If it wasn't for my heightened senses, I'd mistake his words for agitated breathing. 

(I wish I did. It would be far easier to ignore him this way.) 

I turn to the wall and cover my ears with the blanket. I can't bear to hear his voice and see his face like that.

" _I miss you everyday_." He keeps whispering under his breath. " _I know you're listening. You don't need to answer, though, it's okay._ " 

I keep my eyes shut tight. _You now I can't, Simon_. 

I hear him shifting again, and this time his voice comes a little louder. "I just want you to know that I'm still here. And that I'm not going anywhere." 

I sit up, still facing the wall, still keeping my mouth shut. 

_I can't, I can't._

_I have to..._

What? 

I have to protect our hearts. I have to forget anything ever happened between us, before we dwell on this and it's too late to try to go back. 

A sob escapes my throat, and Simon stands up. 

I can't touch him and I can't look at him and _I can't have him._

I just need to say some words and it's over. 

(I don't want this to be over. I don't want to lose him.) 

(All I ever want is to be with him.) 

He steps toward my bed, and I can practically feel his hand hovering over my shoulder. 

"Simon." I almost can't talk over the lump on my throat. "We _can't_..." 

What? 

I can't open my mouth. I can't talk. If I try to, everything that's been welling up inside my chest since September—since much before, when I fell for him—will finally spill out, like a dam collapsing. 

I think it's already happening. I can't keep the sobs back anymore, and tears roll down my chin profusely. 

Simon finally touches me, embracing me, and I let him. His arms, his body—he envelopes me completely, his heat seeping through my skin to my bones and into my poor, weak heart. 

He holds my like this while I sob, his chin pressed on my head. We don't say anything, and we don't move. It's like we're precariously balanced at the edge of a cliff. 

"We can't...?" His voice is so soft, so small. 

"You know I can't." I say, and mine is barely audible as well. 

_You know I can't love you, Simon Snow._

_I can't love you._

_I can't..._

_I..._

_Love._

Everything's _love_ at this moment, like a song echoing through my body.

We lay down when I'm too spent from all the crying and the feeling. (I know I shouldn't let this happen, but I'm so tired.) Simon keeps holding me tightly, his chest pressed against my back. (His hot breath on my nape is so soothing.) 

I fall asleep listening to his heartbeat and the bittersweet chorus of _love love love_ in my head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was lying, I AM evil  
> I hope this didn't hurt too much


	4. Come morning light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz have settled on a careful routine, but things aren't necessarily progressing between them. They hold on to each other by night and part ways as the morning light comes.  
> That is, until everything changes. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after 84 years, I'm finally back!  
> Sorry this took so long, everyone, but school hasn't been taking it easy on me and, as you can see, this chapter is massive, so I hope that can make up for the long wait! Also, I hope y'all will accept this as an apology for the last (angsty ooops) chapter.  
> I hope y'all enjoy this little monster!💖

_March, Watford, 7th year_

**Simon**

I open my eyes just before the sun rises. 

It's still disorienting to wake up and see the bedroom from this angle. I turn to look at my empty bed, on the opposite side of the room, and I can see the last stars fading in the sky through the open window.

It will be morning soon, which means I should get up and go back to my own bed.

(I don't want to leave just yet. The bed is soft and warm, and Baz is so peaceful in my arms.)

But the room's still dark enough that I can give myself one more moment to just... Enjoy this peace. Even if it's a wary and fragile kind of peace, and it feels like it could crumble at any moment, crushing us underneath. 

I wish this could last forever—us laying here together, tucked into blankets and into each other's arms. But we can't. 

Finally, ever so slightly, I start to move. I lift myself a little, trying not to wake Baz up, and just stare at him. One of my arms is still beneath him, the other around his waist. I can feel my limbs stiff and my stomach empty, and my cheek is sticky like I've drooled in sleep, but I don't care. 

Because he's beautiful, and this is the only time I can really look at him all day. So I drag my eyes across his face carefully, memorizing every detail. 

It makes my heart ache, the way his sharp features get soft in sleep. The cedar and bergamot scent envelops us. There's a strand of hair falling on his face, and my fingers are itching to tuck it behind his ear, to run through the dark waves. His breath is cool and serene, and by now he's warm and sound against my chest.

The moment can't last much more, though. Baz is already starting to shift, his breath hitching, and I know my time is over. 

It's been like this since the first time, over a month ago. That night, I... Acted on instinct. I wanted to comfort Baz, and I couldn't find any other way to do it at the moment. He was falling apart, so I tried to hold him and keep the pieces together as best as I could. 

But then he fell asleep in my arms, and I didn't have the heart to pull away. So I just kept holding him tightly until morning. 

And when it came, well. Baz barely looked at my face. He just pulled the blanket off me and turned to face the wall once more, while I got up without a word.

That's how things work between us now: we climb into bed together at night, and sometimes we even talk in the dark, letting sleepiness bring our guards down. Then, everything is covered by uncertainty. 

(All of this could be mistaken by a dream.)

And by the morning, before the sun rises and Baz wakes up, I must leave. 

It's painful. To let go of him. To feel the chilly air touching my skin, and knowing that the warmth that seeped into his blankets will soon fade away, and Baz will wake up cold. 

But I do. I repress the urge to touch him, to kiss him and keep kissing until I'm sure he'll be warm for the rest of the day. 

I let go of him.

**Baz**

Even though I've been sleeping in Simon Snow's arms for over a month now, I don't know what it's like to wake up by his side. 

He's always gone by the time the sun tiptoes over the horizon. Thank Crowley for this; I don't know what would happen if he just decided to stay one day. 

(To keep me locked against his chest for eternity.) 

(It could be the shortest of eternities, and I probably wouldn't mind.)

Now, I can hear him stumbling and cursing around the room, then fumbling through his closet, probably getting ready for breakfast. (He's always slow these days. I know that, partially, it has to do with the fact that he keeps stopping to look at me). I can't tell what time is it, but the first sunbeams are just starting to slide over the wall. 

I resist the urge to turn around and look at Simon, to see him under the first morning light. I've made this mistake before, so it's bad enough to have the image carved into my mind. I don't need to reopen the wound. 

Instead, I just tuck myself further under the blankets. They're still warm (I'm still warm) from Simon's presence overnight, and I think his scent is stuck on the sheets—they smell like cheap soap and something buttery and sweet with hints of smoke. (Like burnt sugar). (It's wonderful). 

I let myself revel in this for as long as I can. Here's the limit between dream and reality for me, the point where they diverge and follow opposite paths. 

(The night is the only safe time for us to interact. We can't properly see each other then, and our whispered talks are charged with complicity. We both know these are stolen moments.) 

Now, the illusion is starting to fade, along with the warmth. It takes a while for him to leave the room, but once Snow finally gets out, I jolt from the bed and open my drawer. There's an envelope there.

I don't know what I expected. Of course it wouldn't be magically gone. (I mean, I could make it disappear, but it wouldn't be wise). 

It's a postcard: an overhead view of the Wavering Wood, and Fiona's handwriting scribbled all over it and today's date on the corner. 

" _Been missing my favorite nephew lately. Hope to see you soon. Cheers,_

 _Aunt Fi."_

( _Fucking subtlety_ , Fi).

It's been sitting on top of everything for over a week; anyone who opened the drawer could have seen it. It was reckless of me to leave it like this.

Maybe I just wanted to be caught. To have some excuse, anything, to avoid meeting her.

I don't, though. And I'm not bloody insane to the point of ignoring my lunatic aunt.

(At least not yet.) 

*******

The Wavering Wood is not called like this as a way of compliment. 

It's too dark, and the wind here blows from all the wrong directions, as if the trees are breathing deeply. (They probably are. Bloody dryads.) 

At some point, I conjure up an orb of light to avoid stumbling over the protruding roots. There are crunching noises, and the fucking trees keep wavering, of course. 

It's almost a bit forced. Like its sole purpose is to keep up the _ancient forest_ aesthetic. 

What I know is that these woods aren't half as useful as they're dangerous. I shouldn't go too far into it, I know, but I don't have much of an option right now. Besides, the dryads know about my undead (and inhumanly strong) condition, so I'm hoping that any dangerous creatures will keep their distance as well. 

I finally reach a clearing. It's not likely to find one in a forest like this, but this is more of a gap between the trees. 

It's not even natural.

There's a pit at the centre, surrounded by fallen trees, moss and growing grass.

This is the exact spot where Snow and I fought a chimera in our fifth year. When he went off, some trees were vaporized, and others were knocked down. 

(I don't know how I wasn't incinerated. Maybe Simon managed to protect me, somehow.) (He always does.)

So here I am. 

I wait for some minutes before hearing the crunchy sounds again, a sign that something—someone—is approaching.

My aunt Fiona emerges from the trees right after. 

"Basil. You can never avoid trouble for too long, can you, you prick?" Is her greeting. I only snort and nod at her.

"I don't even try anymore, Fi." I put my hands in my pockets, trying to ignore the fact that they're sweaty. (I don't sweat. Not casually like this.) "What is it now?" 

Fiona gives me her best sneer and crosses her arms. Her posture is relaxed, and I almost expect her to hand me a bag of shit to throw over the Mage's window. 

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, boyo." Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, and I know she's going to catch every and each lie that runs out of my mouth. "Rumour's been running around that you and the Mage's Heir are now... _Close_ friends."

I feel my heart sink to the ground. 

It takes me physical strength to not falter. I need to act naturally, to relax. I can't even snort properly, though. 

"You know rumours spread like wildfire." I shrug, and her eyes narrow a little more. Shit. I _don't_ shrug. 

"I don't care about this bullshit," Fiona says, her mouth contorting scornfully. "Though it did stir the Old Families." 

"Why is that? One would think the families are above believing in such whisperings." I try to keep my voice steady and mimic her contemptuous tone, but internally I'm cursing myself.

She just waves at me, her eyes glistening with mischief. "I agree, but anyway. We're all excited to see what you're planning, Basil. The Families are expecting you to make a move against the Chosen one."

I huff out an incredulous laugh. "Everyone's always expecting me to make a move against Snow." 

"Yeah, whatever. But now you've got a vantage point, considering how close you two have become." She continues, both eyebrows raising. "Too close, indeed; I've never heard a rumour so improbable, and yet so convincing." 

That's it. I can't lie to her face, unless I want to be permanently cursed. Besides, she must know. I've been reckless, a lot of people saw me with Snow at the Winter Ball, and before, and after. 

If it reached the Families, there's much more to this encounter. They _really_ don't bother about mere rumours.

I sneer sharply. "Concerned about my tricks, Fi? Always thought you had more faith in me." 

"I just wanted to remind you, boyo, that there are a lot of people for you to disappoint." She hisses, looking at me seriously. I wonder if it's because she's concerned about what the Families would do to me, or if it's about the possible treason on my part. 

_Breathe, just breathe_. I can't. I can't do this. 

"That's why you're here, then? To threaten me?" I try to sound annoyed and disdainful, but Fiona knows me. She can rip the mask off my face at it moment.

"You can take this as a warning." Her look is harder now, like a spear pressed to my throat. "It only depends on the nature of your relationship with Snow." 

"I _do_ have a plan." I snort. "There's not a single real thing in our… _relationship_ , if you really want to use this word." My voice comes out firmer, somehow. I'm using every bit of deception in me to keep the facade up. "But he's a good tool, at least. Surprisingly eager for my attention." 

Her smile is sharp, proud and a bit cruel. "Good thing I won't have to remind you where your loyalty lies, Basil." Then, she comes closer to me, hawk eyes scanning my face. "Because this is a dangerous game, boy. I hope you're aware of your role in it."

Then, my aunt turns into the woods and disappears in a swirl of magic. 

Finally, I allow myself to collapse.

My knees buckle and I lean against the closest tree. This is literally the worst thing that could happen. This is what I get for indulging so much with Snow: I finally got caught in the spider's web.

"So, what's your great plan?" 

I practically jump out of my body. _Of fucking course._

I know I shouldn't be surprised. Still, my heart is beating unusually hard inside my chest as I spin on my heels to face Simon Snow.

**Simon**

Following Baz around the woods without being noticed was more difficult than I thought it would be. 

It's like this place knows how much I hate it, and is trying to prove that the feeling's mutual. Every step I take produces a crunchy sound that gives away my presence to everyone (or everything) near me. Besides, Baz moves around so gracefully that I almost lost track of him more than once. 

"For fuck's sake, Snow, why do you always have to show up at the worst times possible?" He says now, his harsh voice contrasting with his trembling hands. 

"What else did you want me to do? I thought you were in trouble!" I say. It's true, he's been acting weird all day.

(And no, I don't watch Baz anymore, not like that. It was just impossible to not notice him skipping breakfast and wandering around the school grounds for hours before going into the fucking Wavering Wood). 

"Well thought, I am in trouble. I'm neck-deep into it." He grunts, one hand pulling at his hair. "Not that you can do anything about it." 

I huff. "Maybe I can, if you just explain what the fuck's going on!" 

"Isn't it clear enough to you, Snow?!" Baz shouts, and we're both taken aback by it. His expression softens right after, going from frustrated to pained. "How much did you hear?" 

"Almost the whole conversation." I shrug, and he only shakes his head. 

"And? Do you have any idea of how bad this is?" 

"I have a vague impression." I say, in the sarcastic tone he used to talk to me before... Everything, I guess. "Can't you just tell me what's the plan so we can get it going?" 

"The... Fuck." Baz facepalms, grunting. "This is my problem, Snow: _There's no plan_!" 

"There's no...?" I gape at him. "But you told her—" 

"I was lying, you doofus!" He starts pacing around the clearing. "I just said what she expected to hear. Actually, " Baz snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. "what everyone expects from me, apparently." 

"Fuck, Baz, I didn't mean it like this!" 

"Really, Snow? You didn't even second guess my words." He rolls his eyes. 

"I was _hoping_ you'd have some kind of bloody plot! Because if you don't, well…" The unsaid words hang heavy in the air between us, dangerous and threatening. 

"I _know_." He snarls. Then again, his tone dropping to defeat: "I know." 

I'm shaking my head, trying to clear my thoughts. (It only messes everything even more, but fuck this.) 

"We have to do _something._ " I say, in the steadiest voice I can manage. "We can't just wait for them to… to—" I swallow. 

" _We_ don't have to do anything. _I_ have to come up with something, and you should stay out of my way while I do it." 

I take a step back, shocked. "Really, Baz? Do you think _this_ is the solution? We should work together! We always work better like this!" My voice is getting higher, and I'm waving my arms in exasperation. I can practically feel the air getting hotter around us.

"What do you suggest?! Because, well, the only option I see now is that we carry on with this conversation until I'm ready to strangle you." Baz snarls. 

"I don't know, alright? You're the plotter here!" 

"Then how the fuck do you expect to help me get out of this, _Snow_? All you ever do is distract me!" 

I have to make physical effort to not push him to the ground. I try to remind myself that he's scared, righteously so, and that this is just his average reaction, but it doesn't make the words hurt any less. 

"Do you think this is my fault, then?" I ask, blinking to keep angry tears away. I need to see his face clearly. "Do you think we were better as _enemies_?"

"You know what?" His expression switches from raging to hurt like light flickering. "Sometimes I do. After all, this is just happening because you decided that a truce would be better than fighting!"

I'm sure a punch wouldn't have hit so hard. "Alright, Baz. Fine." I turn around, stomping away from him. "Just let me know whenever you decide to throw a boulder on my head." 

" _I won't hurt you_!" He shouts, somehow making it sound like a threat. I sincerely don't care, as long as nobody hurts _him_. 

I leave the woods, hot tears rolling down my cheeks. I can't help thinking that… well. I knew something like this could happen. I just assumed we'd get through it together; that we would be able to do something when the time came. 

I shake my head and remind myself that I _can_ do something. I'm going to talk to Penny and we're going to find a way out of this, even if Baz doesn't want our help.

The trees waver behind me, their leaves producing a soft sound. There's something else, though, a low buzzing sound from afar. Like a swarm of bees. 

I stop dead on my tracks. I can't tell for how long I've been hearing it, but now it's impossible to ignore. 

I turn to the forest. Nothing seems out of place. It's weird… 

I take a deep breath, and there it is.

An itchy feeling in the air, my skin prickling.

_Fuck._

And now I can see smoke rising above the line of trees. 

_Fuck fuck fuck_ —

I can't run fast enough or scream loud enough to warn him, but I try anyway. 

**Baz**

I'm fuming as I go even deeper into the woods, trying to push this conversation—and my conversation with Fiona as well—out of my mind. 

I need to cool down. I need to think. I need to _hunt._

I've got my fangs deep into a crow's neck when the air starts buzzing. 

I don't notice at first, and then it's like it was there all along. Something is off, though: The air feels suddenly dry, and there's a faint scent of smoke coming from nowhere. 

I glimpse something moving to my left, and draw my teeth out of the dead bird to look around. 

There's a flock of strange insects hovering above the trees. They buzz like bees and twinkle like fireflies, and for a moment I'm so stunned that I forget to retract my fangs. 

Then something warm touches my hand, and I look down. A droplet of blood. I can feel more running down my chin, and I think, _I should really clean this_. 

But I don't, because I can't take my eyes off these weird things. They descend upon the trees like ashes falling from the sky. I watch as one of them lands on a leaf close to my shoes. 

It catches fire right away. 

I startle and jump back, the flame burning with unnatural intensity. 

Another insect lands, and another, and many more.

Easy like this, a whole tree is set on fire. 

" **Make a wish**!" I cast, my wand slipping from my sleeve easily. It's useless, though, the flames don't falter. 

I try again, my voice stronger and clearer, but nothing happens. The fire only spreads as more of these bloody things land on every flammable surface. Which sucks because, well, _I'm_ flammable. 

(I've never really pushed my vampire skills to see what's the limit. I guess I'm going to find out now.)

I start running as fast as I can, the trees blurring on my peripheral vision, and still it isn't enough. They're everywhere, sparks surrounding me fast, and it would take a single one of them to end me. 

The fire is spreading faster than any curse I know and the trees are falling in a trail of destruction. 

_I won't make it._

It's an inferno. I can hear screams from afar, pained and desperate cries as the forest's creatures try to escape. Near me, a dryad materializes from a tree, the terror on her face mirroring my own.

_I'm lost._

But not yet, I won't be. I'm a vampire, but I'm also a Pitch and a Grimm. 

_These_ flames won't claim me. 

All at once, I let my instincts kick in: I take a leap reinforced by superhuman strength and cast **Float like a butterfly** at the same time. It launches me up one tree, and I use the momentum to hurl myself over the branches.

Adrenaline rushes through my body as I jump from tree to tree. My vision gets sharper and my nostrils flare, taking in smoke and _wrongness_. 

My whole body itches. It's like, no matter how fast I go, something's trying to drag me back, sucking the air from my lungs. 

And the humming in the air intensifies. 

_The Humdrum._

_No no no—_

I hear screams, and this time I can make out the voice—Simon. 

_No…_

I spot a figure—blond hair, tear-stained cheeks—running into the woods, right to the relentless fire. I let myself fall to the ground before my mind has fully processed the sight.

I land before her with a heavy thud, my legs aching from the impact. She falls back with an astounded " _Fuck_ ", and only then I notice the dirt on her cheeks. 

_She_. Not Simon. 

"Crowley." I gasp as the goatherd gets up, yielding her staff. 

My clothes are blood stained and, last time I checked, my fangs were out. 

But Ebb doesn't give me a second glance.

" _Go_!" She yells, urging me forward. I don't need to be told twice, but at the same time I don't want to just leave her here. 

The goatherd seems to know what she's doing, though. She spins her staff and casts a spell I don't know. Immediately, the wind starts blowing fiercely, funneling, building up a wall that contains the advancing fire. 

Temporarily. 

"Go! Run away!" Ebb yells at me again, her voice weak over the whirlwind, but this time I listen to her. 

I turn around to start running again, but then I crash into Simon. 

" _Baz!_ " He grips my arms. "The Humdrum!" 

"I know!" I scream, trying to drag him away from the fire. "We have to go!" 

"What?! We have to fight it! We have to help Ebb—" 

" _Simon—_ " 

" _Go away_!" I hear her voice over the wind and the flames, and then Ebb casts something on us. 

The spell strikes us like lighting, and in the blink of an eye, Simon and I are being compelled backwards, as if pushed by an invisible force. 

Finally, we fall to the ground way beyond the line of trees, like the woods have just spit us out. 

"What the fuck—" Snow mumbles as we let go of each other. I look over my shoulder. 

There's already a crowd gathering here, dozens of wide eyes and hanging mouths as greeting. 

**Simon**

People are getting between us before I can fully process what's happening; suddenly, there are hands under my arms, on my shoulders and around my chest, pulling me to my feet and dragging me away from Baz. 

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I watch them grab him in a similar way. Baz has only enough time to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve before they're all surrounding us. 

_(Standing_ between us, all this people. I search for his eyes, helpless, but Baz is looking at the ground.) (His arms are bruised and his clothes are dirty, and I can't even ask if he's alright.) 

Then, the crowd is parting again, making way to someone, and I hear an imperious voice thundering over all the others. 

"Of course you two would be involved." Says Miss Possibelf, her tone disapproving, hard gaze alternating between Baz and me.

"Miss Possibelf, we didn't—" But then everyone's talking over me, and I'm pushed by a dozen frantic hands. Away, farther and farther away from him.

" _WAIT_!" I shout to her, but my voice is buried beneath many others. "It's the Humdrum! MISS POSSIBELF—" 

But my teacher doesn't listen. Her hands are now raised and her eyes are shut tight. I watch dumbfoundedly as she starts chanting a spell in a language I've never heard. 

I'm not even sure if it's a _human_ language. In the sky, heavy clouds gather, darkening before our eyes. She enters the woods like this, followed by a dozen other teachers, wands up and chanting. 

The students are waiting expectantly for whatever is about to happen. 

I catch a glimpse of dark hair and dirty clothes moving against people. I try to follow Baz, shout his name, but he doesn't stop. I push my way through the crowd, earning annoyed looks and curses, trying to reach him. It's useless. 

Baz finally frees himself from the crowd, and stops for a moment to look back. His eyes, wide and terrified, land on me against all odds.

Then he's running. 

I stop and look around. From here, we can barely sense the Humdrum's presence, which means that it isn't progressing. Which means that I'm not needed here. 

A violent rain falls upon the trees, suffocating the smoke and, hopefully, the fire. 

The teachers can deal with this. The best I can offer them is to go off, and that's generally more destructive than their current approach. 

So I turn my back on them and keep pushing whoever's in front of me, until I'm running after Baz.

*******

I go down into the Catacombs, wandering through the empty corridors, in and out of the faint light cast by burning torches. I call out to him, paying attention to the sound of footsteps, but I can only make out my own noise. 

Blood pumping in my ears. Gasping for air. Calling his name, again and again and again—

Baz crashes into me once more, his arms flying around my torso and his face hiding in the crook of my neck.

" _Baz_." I pull him against me tightly, my fingers instantly sliding into his hair. "For a moment, I thought—" _I thought I'd lost you._ And then we're just holding each other, keeping the other up. 

(It feels like we've been doing this a lot lately.) 

I feel his chest heaving, and his breath comes ragged against my neck. 

"Snow—" Baz sobs, pressing further into me. 

"Shh, we're going to be—" 

"No, we're not." The distance he puts between us is only enough for his eyes to meet mine. He looks so desperate, I almost can't hold his gaze. " _She saw me_ , Simon. Fangs popped and inhuman reflexes, superhero landing and all." 

"Superhero—what?" 

But Baz only shakes his head. "Ebb saw me. She _knows._ " 

"Shit." Is all I have to say.

Baz huffs, frustration welling up in his eyes, but I don't let him pull away. I can't. That sight is still ingrained in my mind: him running for dear life, fire rising all around, and knowing that a single spark would have been enough to—fuck. 

Instead, I bring him closer, our foreheads touching, and everything I can see is the grey of his eyes. They're foggy, though; worried and frightened and so hopeless. 

"Listen." I start, my voice filling the air between us. "We have a lot of problems right now—only Merlin knows how many. But I really doubt Ebb is one of them…" 

Baz shakes his head, and I can feel his shoulders trembling. "If she knows, the Coven will know soon enough—" 

"Hey, _hey_." I squeeze his hands. "Ebb is the kindest person I know. She would never tell anyone, especially knowing that it would hurt you. Fuck, she just threw herself in front of cursed fire just to give us _time_." 

"I know, but now she—" his voice falters, and Baz takes a deep breath. "Now she knows that I'm a monster." 

"Baz, you're _not_. Definitely not." I cradle his face. "I think I'd know if I had fallen for a monster." 

He sniffs and shakes his head, but doesn't pull away.

We're close, physically, but it just… I don't know, it always feels like we're too far from each other. The space seems to be closing, though—he's leaning forward, and his hair is tickling my chin, and I'm moving my hand to swipe it away, tucking it behind his ear. 

(How long have I wanted to do this?) 

(It feels like forever.) 

I just keep touching his hair for some time, the black strands soft between my fingers. His nose nudges my face, and we're so close.

"Snow." Only his lips are moving, and it's enough. Then again, "Simon." 

"Hm?" (If I angle my head the right way, on the right timing…) 

"Someone's coming." My eyes snap open and find Baz's wide ones. I can hear it now: footsteps and heavy breathing, like someone's running through the dark tunnels towards _us_.

We don't even have time to part before the person enters our corridor. 

I turn to them, hand flying to my hip and ready to summon the Sword of Mages, but—

Ebb stumbles to a stop before us, face and hair dirtier than usual. She's sweaty and panting, all covered in ashes and gaping

"Oh, fuck." She swears under her breath. 

**Baz**

We must be quite a sight, Snow and I, but still the goatherd doesn't look surprised for over two seconds. 

"I imagined I'd have to… separate you two," Ebb pants, "But I didn't think it would be like this." She seems to think about something for a moment, then shrugs it off and starts walking towards me.

"Ebb—" Snow steps between us, eyes wide and shocked. But Ebb just waves at him dismissively.

"Relax, Simon, I just need to check if you two are okay." She says, her eyes trained on me.

(They're disturbingly big and _blue_. Bluer than Simon's; than the summer sky, even.) 

Right now, she's trying to approach me, hands reaching for my face. I jerk away, my heart sinking under her curious scrutiny. 

"Can you show me?" Ebb asks, and it startles me so much I can only snort at her. 

" _What_?" 

"Your teeth," she says, simply. 

I can't believe what's happening. Right when I thought this day couldn't get any more disastrous. 

"What's your fucking problem?!" I snarl, taking a step back for each one she takes towards me. 

"Baz!" Snow growls, his look going from tentative to fully annoyed. "Ebb's only concerned about us!" 

"I've got no idea what she's talking about." I intend the words to be venomous, but the only venom I can taste is the bile at the back of my throat. This is useless. All the condescension in the world is useless right now. 

I'm ready to turn around and run again, but what's the point? The Mage's Men, perhaps my own family, would be at my back by tomorrow, no matter how fast or how far away I run. 

Useless, useless, _useless—_

A hand touches my shoulder, gently, almost careful, and I don't dare slapping it away. 

"How did this happen to you?" Her voice is so small, so melancholic; I can almost convince myself that she truly cares. 

I look at Ebb. _Maybe she does, after all._ Her tearful eyes, the sad lines that compose her expression—everything about her is so genuine and raw, and right now it all convey so much compassion.

Any conviction I had that she might try to harm me somehow is gone in an instant. 

"I…" I turn my face away; I can't bear to look at her right now. I can feel the tears rising again, sharp and hot, and I hear Ebb sniffling behind me. (Fuck. Is _she_ crying?) "Do you remember the day vampires attacked Watford? They went for the nursery." 

She draws in a sharp breath and swears. "The day Headmistress Pitch—Oh." 

"Yes," I say, hating the way my voice trembles, but I can't help it. It's too much. "The day my mother died. And I was Turned." 

Ebb swears again, hand over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Then, her eyes lift to mine, catching me off guard. "But you… Oh, Basilton, you were just a baby." 

I shrug. It doesn't matter now, it's done. Pity will do nothing to change it, and honestly, I can't think of any kind way to tell the goatherd that I don't need her tears. 

"What are you going to do about it, then?" I ask, my voice harsh, but I intend it this way. (At least that's what I'm trying.) 

"I need to talk to you." She says, eyes dropping to the ground. "To you both."

*******

Yellow light flickers in Ebb's eyes as she tells us about her lost brother. Even though the fire of torches lining up the walls is far gentler than the forest's, the effect it produces is the same. 

She sniffs and rubs her nose. "Nico had the choice, y'know. He made his mind and did what he thought was right. He chose it." 

Nicodemus. Her brother, who was Turned into a vampire. Who did it deliberately; _asked_ for it. 

And then, when the Coven caught him, he had his fangs extracted and his wand broken. 

Ebb is shaking her head, bright tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I didn't think, I _don't_ think, what he did was right, but… this isn't the important part. What really matters," she looks each one of us dead in the eye, "Is that he was my _brother_. I loved him, even through all his mistakes. And still…" She shrugs, her head resting against the wall, "I didn't do much to help him." 

By my side, Snow sighs heavily, and I feel his fingers enlacing mine. We're sitting on the humid ground, our backs to the brick wall, and Ebb's sitting across from us.

"I'm sorry, Ebb." Simon mumbles, not looking at her. Ebb just nods, a weak smile on her lips, always sniffling.

"It's fine. I mean, of course it isn't, even after years, but anyway. It's not your fault." She shrugs again, then crunches her nose and looks at me. "What I'm trying to say is that I should have tried to help Nico, even if it was useless. Even if he didn't want my help, I should have stood by his side." 

Now she's looking up, and I wonder if she's praying somehow or just trying to keep the tears back. (They fall anyway.) 

"If there's something I wish I could go back and do differently, it's this: I'd fight for my brother." She looks at our intertwined fingers and smiles. Her voice is barely a whisper when she says: "But you… you can fight right now. If you've got something that's worth it, then you should fight tooth and nail for it." 

We remain silent for a while, and I let the words sink in. 

My heart is finally calming down, I think. My chest aches a little; probably due to the fact that I forced so many limits today. 

It's like I've been running a marathon—everyday, since… it's hard to tell, really. But it's been a long time, and I'm getting tired of it. 

(Of running away. Of fleeing.) 

"Thank you, Ebb." I say, softly. "And, uh… sorry for earlier. I didn't know how you'd react." 

She nods once, then stretches a hand to touch my face. This time, I don't flinch. 

"You had no choice about this, young Basil." Her fingertips trace my cheek lightly, and the sadness in her face makes my heart squeeze. "But now you do. Now it's up to you." 

I nod as she gets up and leaves, her words still echoing—against the walls and inside my head. I look over at Simon, his eyes already pinned to me.

Maybe it's time to turn around and face the fire. 

**Simon**

I can't stop thinking about what Ebb just said. 

Now I want to fight more than ever—for a chance with Baz. To protect him. So that we can be on the same side for once. 

I can't tear my eyes from his face, and when he moves closer to me, I think I might kiss him. 

But he's Baz, and he's always two steps ahead of me. 

So I really shouldn't be surprised when his hand sneaks around my neck and he brings me forward.

And then _he_ kisses _me._

**Baz**

I think I expected sirens to go off, like a fire alarm, or great neon signs saying " _THIS IS NOT A DRILL_ " blinking behind my eyelids, but... it's quiet. 

Except that kissing Simon Snow _does_ feel a lot like burning from the inside out. 

His mouth is hot against mine, and the way he's moving his chin makes something spark and twist inside my chest. When he tilts his head and licks my bottom lip, I open my mouth more than willingly. 

And yes, this is not a drill. It's _really_ happening. 

I must admit, I don't really know what I'm doing. I've never kissed anyone. I don't even know if this is a good kiss: it's breathy and a little wet, clumsy and desperate in equal parts, and _hungry_. Our teeth clink and our noses bump. It's perfect. 

I let myself dwell in the feeling of his lips, of his hands. If I am burning, then Simon Snow is the oxygen fueling my flames. 

I'm not sure either of us is breathing anymore. I'm all warm and dizzy, and my body feels so light, it's like I can actually lift off the ground and float around. (Nobody knows with Simon's magic. After all, it's happened before.) 

_We could stay here forever_ , I think. Here, in each other's arms, we're safe. I think I wouldn't mind dying like this, sharing his breath and tasting his lips. 

_Crowley_ , I'm kissing Simon Snow. 

What a charmed life. 

**Simon**

We kiss for so long I'm not sure what else I'd been doing of my life before this. 

Before Baz's lips and hands tugging at my hair; before his perfect eyebrows that he somehow manages to quirk judgmentally even while we're _kissing;_ before his voice and his skin and… _Baz_. Just Baz. 

Actually, I suppose he's always been there, at the core of everything. _Perfect git_. It just took me a long time to realize what my annoyance towards him really meant.

Baz cradles my face while we kiss, like he's afraid I'm going to pull away or turn into smoke if we don't hold on to each other hard enough. I bring him closer to me and press our bodies against the wall, hoping to reassure him. 

I can feel him warming up under my touch, his heart coming alive beneath my palms, and it's incredible.

Although there's still something… off, I think. A feeling I can't quite grasp, like I'm forgetting an important detail. 

Oh, _yeah,_ right. I should be breathing. 

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, though, my numb brain jumps into drastic measures, and I blow right into Baz's mouth, his cheeks inflating. 

He pulls away and just stares at me for a moment, mouth hanging open, then bursts into laughter. 

"What the fuck was that, Snow?" He nudges my shoulder playfully, his eyes glinting in the way I missed so much. 

"Uh, sorry." I mumble, and I can practically feel a rush of heat spreading across my face. "Forgot how to breathe." 

Baz shakes his head and giggles, his fingertips tracing patterns on my cheeks. "One would imagine you're more experienced than that, you nightmare." He says, smugly, leaning in to whisper against my lips: " _Fucking mouth breather_." 

I laugh a little, resting my forehead against his and trying to catch my breath. We're both panting, and his breath smells like something citrusy. It's making my head spin, and I feel a little drunk. 

_Drunk on Baz_ , I think, my heart fluttering. 

"Well, I usually am. Better at this, I mean." I struggle to put the words together. "But you always manage to unsettle me, so…" 

He stares at me for a moment, gobsmacked, bloody perfect lips parted and pupils blown wide. Then, his expression changes to something entirely different. 

Baz is looking at me like he's about to attack, jawline set hard and brow determined. 

_You're appetizing to me in many ways._ I remember the way he looked at me then, and I remember thinking that embarrassment could kill me on the spot. But I survived, somehow, to earn that same look again. 

I nip at his bottom lip, provokingly, invitingly. 

He attacks. 

**Baz**

I'm snogging Simon against a stone wall.

It's dark and humid down here, and I can't help feeling that It's unfair to him. 

He's been sleeping with me for almost two months, _in my bed_ , and now that I'm finally kissing him, we're sitting in the most uncomfortable position possible, at the ground of the fucking _Catacombs,_ pushing each other against cold stone.

 _This is wrong_ , I think, even though it feels like the only right thing in the world at this moment. But still…

I want to get back to our room and snog Simon in my bed (which we've been _sharing_ ), and maybe in his, too. 

I want to lay him down and kiss him against the mattress until my jaw hurts and my lips go sore. Or maybe until we fall asleep, whatever happens first. 

Things are escalating quickly, our lips getting frenzier against each other as the kiss heats up, and then—

I hear a low growling sound. 

It makes me pause, and I pull away to look at Simon's face, my eyebrows raising reflexively. 

"Was that your _stomach_?"

"Uh." His face is tomato red, his nose scrunched up. It's lovely. "Actually, I think the last time I ate anything was at breakfast." 

I laugh a little, playing with one of his curls. "It's okay, Simon. We can go grab something for lunch." 

Snow looks like I just shook him awake. _Of course_. Talk about food and he's already there. I roll my eyes again, but it's forced. I can't really get annoyed at him. 

"Fine. Let's go." I start to get up, but Snow tugs at my sleeve, hesitant.

"Baz, don't you think… uh." He looks around, then at the ground, then back at me. "Maybe we shouldn't be seen together, after… y'know—everything…" 

I frown at him, my eyebrows knitting. Like I could have forgotten. "The damage is done, Snow. Why would this change anything now?" 

He shrugs. "I just don't want to make things worse for you." 

I sigh, then try to smile. "It's fine. We're going to come up with something." 

Simon nods, and we both get up. As we walk our way out of the Catacombs, I can feel the air around heavy, charged with a lot of things: expectation, uncertainty and a little bit of anxiety. Like electricity. 

When we finally get to the entrance, Snow squeezes my hand and looks at me, waiting. I'm waiting, too.

To see which one of us will part. Who's willing to take the first step and risk being hit by lightning. 

Finally, I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles, lightly. I hope he understands this as a promise: that we're going to get back together at the end of the day, like we always do. No matter what. 

*******

I sit between Dev and Niall on the dining hall. On a normal day, I'd be late for lunch; today, though, considering the amount of students who were drawn by the commotion at the forest's border, there are still a lot of people eating. 

My minions included. 

They're staring at me in shock, just like everyone else in the room. Actually, half of the room.

The other half is staring at _Simon._

I can feel their eyes heavy upon me, and I know that, from now on, every one of my movements will be interpreted as a political act. 

I've heard them on the hallways and I can hear them right now, murmuring. I know what they're saying, what they're thinking. 

"What the _fuck_ was going through your head, mate?" Niall is looking at me like I'm a madman. I can't really blame him. "You could have died!" 

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can manage. "You should be more specific. I could have died since the day I was born." Actually, I already died once since then. 

"So you really did it?!" Dev grabs my shoulder, his voice getting loud with excitement and disbelief. I glance at him coldly. 

"What do you think?" 

He laughs and slaps my back, a little too enthusiastically. "You crazy motherfucker—"

Niall leans over me to shove at Dev's shoulder, and then they start bickering about my supposed recklessness. 

"Please, gentlemen," I don't bother getting between them. Instead, I just play with the food on my plate. (I can't really eat with so many people around.) "Don't make a scene. You should act like _civilized people_ at least during meals." 

But I don't bother to tell them the truth. 

Not that they can do much more, but it can be extremely helpful to have my minions spreading the rumour. They can give it credibility. 

(The idea started forming in my head as soon as I noticed the way everyone was looking between us, expectation filling the air like heavy smoke. It was just there, ready for me to grab it. And I did.) 

I stare at Simon Snow, who's sitting at the opposite extreme of the room, between Bunce and Wellbelove. They both look a little distressed, and Simon is staring back at me with a confused expression.

"What are you up to, you git?" Niall mutters by my side.

A sharp smile spreads across my face, and I watch, amused, as Simon blushes, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I am plotting." 

**Simon**

I race up the stairs just after dinner, waving off everyone who tries to get in my way. It feels like the fucking ground is shaking in anticipation for whatever's about to happen; everyone's peeking over their shoulders and from behind their half-closed doors; trying to talk to me all at the same time and I can't _breathe_. 

I can't take all this scrutiny anymore. 

Not that I didn't get any attention before. Being the Chosen one (even if I'm the _worst_ to ever be chosen) draws a lot of attention. This was different, though. It was the first attack in a while, and it's been a long time since the Humdrum sent something so destructive. 

They know that _something_ happened in the woods, but it's not enough. Everyone wants to know exactly what started the fire, and why Baz was there when it happened. 

Why _I_ was there; and why we were there before, supposedly together, to begin with. 

And now they won't leave me alone. 

Even Penny was a little frantic at lunch, clutching my arm and throwing questions at me every two minutes. _"What the fuck happened to you two?"_

_"Was it really the Humdrum?"_

_"Why would it attack the Wavering Wood?"_

And a dozen more that went flying through my ears, unregistered.

Now, it feels like my head is splitting, and I just want to get back to my tower and lock myself up there.

(With Baz, preferably.) 

Still, when I get to the door, I pause. I want to burst in and throw myself in his arms, in his bed, and go back to his lips, _bloody finally._ But I can't. I'm hesitating, and my heart beats stronger with each passing second. 

Because I can't stop thinking. 

About his face earlier, in the dining hall. That sharp smile, that look: that was his mask, back on after all my effort to pull it down. 

(I think I'm afraid to go into the room and find only masked Baz there.) 

Besides, I don't know how things are going to work from now on. I mean, everything's different, right? But I don't know how Baz is going to deal with the change. I'm afraid he will shut me off completely this time, or maybe pretend that nothing happened. 

But I push these thoughts aside, take a deep breath and a leap of faith. I open the door tentatively, slowly, waiting for his voice to greet me harshly. 

It never comes. 

Instead, I hear an exasperated huff. 

"Why did it take you so long to come back?" 

I come in, all my doubts fading when he pulls me into a hug. For a moment we just stay like this, breathing each other in. My face is at the crook of his neck and his is buried in my messy hair.

"Sorry," I mumble as we part. "I had to deal with some stalkers." 

Baz's eyebrows shoot up in a half arrogant, half mocking expression. "Fun, isn't it?" 

"Oh, fuck off, Baz." I shove at him lightly, trying and failing miserably to sound annoyed. "Do you think we should cast protective spells on the door?"

"On the windows as well. Just to make sure."

"I… kinda missed you." 

He snorts at this and leans in to kiss my forehead. "It's been merely hours." 

"Still." _I miss you every time I'm away from your arms_ , I think, but I don't dare saying it. It would probably come across as clingy. 

(Or maybe not, because it's the kind of sappy bollocks _he_ would say. Anyway, it's his thing, not mine.) 

I just feel so relieved as he takes my hand and leads us to his bed. 

That he's safe and here, with me. 

We sit down and just look at each other for a moment, awkwardly. I mean, yeah, we've been sleeping together for almost two months, but never _together_. We've just kissed for the first time today. 

So, uh. Almost everything is different, because I still can't gather the right words. Instead, I do what I'm used to: when I'm nervous or frustrated and can't express myself by talking, I just smash things.

Right now, I smash my face against Baz's. 

He huffs a laugh against my lips and slides his fingers through my hair, bringing me closer. 

It's a slow kiss, though it definitely doesn't lack passion. Instead, it's like we can communicate everything through our locked lips, no words needed. 

We finally break the kiss to catch our breaths, and this time I open my eyes to look at him. 

He's all flushed cheeks and reddish lips. (He fed recently). There are some strands of hair falling over his face (I wrap one around my fingers). His eyes, his _eyes_ , now staring into mine. 

If I'm beaming, then his eyes are reflecting all this happiness back to me. 

" _Simon_." He breathes. "I found a solution." 

My mouth falls. " _What_?! How? When?" 

"Well, turns out the Humdrum made us a big favor." A wicked smile takes over his lips. "Everyone thinks I started the fire."

"I know." I growl, clenching my fists. "I wanted to punch half the school—" 

"Wait, Simon, just _listen_." He holds his hands out, looking excited. "It's perfect. They think I lured you into the woods in an attempt to take you down. Which is incredibly convenient for us, don't you think?" 

"But… but the Humdrum—" 

" _Of course_ I'd blame it on the Humdrum. Otherwise it would be too obvious." He gives me one of those witty looks that says _You know how to add 1 and 1, right?_ That's when it clicks for me.

"Shit, Baz, this is a fucking _deus ex machina_." 

" _Exactly_!" He laughs. "It's not ideal because the teachers know the truth, but if we can make everyone else believe this, it can at least buy us some time." 

I nod, laughing incredulously.

Borrowed time, stolen time—time bought with flames and corrupted magic, and the risk of a life. 

But it's what we have, and it's all we'll ever have if we don't fight back. 

But we will. This much I'm sure of. 

**Baz**

I wake up to a world of gold and copper, with strong arms holding me against a warm, heaving chest. (I know the pattern of his breathing better than my own by now). 

I brush Simon's curls off my face and lift my head enough to place a kiss on his forehead. 

Sunlight is creeping in through the open windows, bathing him in a warm light. His skin is gilded in gold, sprinkled with moles. 

I'm in the process of kissing each one of them when he wakes up. 

"What you… Baz?" Snow looks at me through half-lidded eyes, sleepy. His part of the pillow is stained with drool (because he sleeps with his mouth open), and I'm sure he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Morning." I whisper, resting my head on his chest and looking up at him; and I know I must look like some lovestruck fool, but I don't care. After all, it's true, isn't it? 

"It's way past dawn," Snow looks around, concern shaping his expression. "I should—" 

He starts moving to get up, but I grab his hand and pull him back to me. 

"You can stay." I say, hurriedly. "I mean, if you want. Please?" 

Simon looks confused for a moment, then amusement unties the knot between his eyebrows. 

"You're _asking_ me?" He laughs, sliding closer to me. I throw my arms over his shoulders and Simon's arms sneak around my waist, and then, once again, we're locked in the world's most perfect hug. " _I always want to stay_." He whispers in my ear, making something warm and sweet bloom in my chest. 

We stay like this for a couple of minutes before I hear Snow's stomach growling again. 

"Okay, right, it must be breakfast time." I say, letting go of him and pulling away just enough for me to miss his warmth. "Are you ready to convince everyone that we're trying to kill each other?" 

Simon falls back on his pillow with a huff. "You've grown too soft towards me. No one's gonna buy it." 

"You think so?" I grin at him, leaning in to kiss another mole on his bare chest. "Let's see." 

Snow laughs, and I marvel at the sensation of his chest shaking against mine. I want to chase the laughter on his lips. 

"Let's see, indeed. But first," his eyes glint mischievously, blue like the sky outside, "You have to kiss me good morning." 

I make a show of scrunching my nose and say, "Your morning breath is terrible." 

"Maybe." Somehow, he manages to shrug from beneath me. "But what is love without a little sacrifice?" 

I snort at this, but lean in to kiss him anyway.

It's like I can never get enough of his mouth; last night, Snow kissed me until my mouth went sore, and then we kept talking and flirting and just holding each other through the night. 

I fell asleep to Simon Snow's sound breathing and I woke up in his arms. 

And now that I've learned so many things about him, about his mouth and about his hands and about his skin, I don't want to go back to that wariness of before.

I want to wake up like this everyday. 

So if I have to fight for this, I will—with magic and nail and very, very sharp teeth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Today is another day.  
> First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for your amazing comments and kudos, they're so important to me ❤️😭  
> Second, I need to be honest with you. The next chapter probably won't be coming out soon, so please be patient and don't give up on me. I just started working on my fic for the COBB, and I'm a slow writer, so it will be a while before I update this again. (Though hopefully it won't take THIS long.) Also, I'm quarantined, so I hope that will boost my writing for the next two weeks.  
> Anyway, that's it, I think. One hundred 'thank you's to everyone who's reading this! ❤️💕


	5. Thus with a kiss...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is it, then. The moment we've been waiting for, dreading. I remember making peace with the idea of me and Baz always being on opposite sides, only ever looking at each other from afar.
> 
> That peace is gone, though, and it's been a long time since I decided to fight for us. To break down the walls between us with my own hands, if necessary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I know it's been a long time since the last update, and I'm sorry for that. This is another long chapter, so I really hope it can make up for that (I also hope it's a satisfying resolution to this story.) Special thanks to @merisalright for being a lovely beta 💕💕💕💕  
> Finally, thank you so much to everyone who's read this! Thank you for your patience and for sticking with me along this journey 💕💖

_Late April_

**Simon**

I wake up with a punch to the gut. 

My lips part in a silent _"oof"_ , and I feel something falling into my mouth. I try to blow it away, but then this thing keeps moving, climbing me up. 

Baz elbows my clavicle, and one of his hands sinks into my stomach again, and I grunt—it's not a caress, like when he rubs me there. It's heavy and careless, and clumsy, and so _not_ Baz—

Or too Baz, maybe. No filters applied. 

"Stop this," I mutter, trying to push him slightly so that I can breathe, "the Anathema is going to kick you out." 

Baz doesn't move. In fact, he seems really determined to remain on top of me. "It can't kick me out if I'm asleep." 

I huff out a laugh, arms sneaking around him. He takes it as permission to sprawl further over me. (Sometimes, I think Baz behaves a little like a cat.) His head is tucked under my chin, his hair is falling all over my face, and I can feel his even breath on my skin. His chest heaving in tandem with mine. 

(I can't exactly feel his heart, but I like to think it's beating in tandem with mine, too.) 

Sometimes I wish… 

_Nope, not again,_ I interrupt the thought. I know it does me no good to think about it. 

(... But sometimes I really wish things could be like this all the time. That we could sit together at breakfast and walk holding hands and sneak around to snog inside closets without worrying it might start a literal war.) 

I breathe in deeply and let the scent of Baz's hair wash away these thoughts. "We should go down to breakfast soon, y'know."

He nuzzles at my chest, mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _"Bloody ravenous numpty",_ then lifts his head, faking an incredulous look.

"You can't stop thinking about food even during the little time we have together?" Baz asks, voice sleepy and eyes unfocused.

My heart melts a little, and I grin up at him. "We've been through this already, Baz. I warned you how much of a terrible boyf—" 

"It's seven in the morning," he says, poking at my side, "don't use the _B_ word." 

My smile widens, and I lean up to whisper in his ear: _"Bitch."_

Baz snorts and shakes his head in feigned disappointment. Still, he starts placing soft kisses on my chin, trailing over my jaw, down my neck. (I've learned, during the past weeks, that these aren't just kisses randomly scattered. He's kissing my moles.) 

Baz reaches my collarbone and then kisses his way back up, his lips barely ghosting over my cheeks, under my eye, circling my mouth. I capture them with mine, finally kissing him properly, and when he laughs, I feel it in my mouth. 

"Crowley, you're really hungry, aren't you?" A wriggle of eyebrows, teeth pulling at my lower lip; that's all it takes to make me forget the food. 

At moments like this, we forget everything else. We don't need to pretend we hate each other, let alone _hurt_ each other. It's like we're inside a bubble, where no external thing can disturb us: not the Mage or the Families, not even… 

Someone storming up the stairs, banging on the door forcefully. Baz pulls away and we stare at each other for a moment, alarmed.

Then, we start moving like the building is on fire: Baz pushes himself off me so fast (and _ungracefully,_ fucking Merlin) that he gets all tangled up in the sheets in his rush to get up. Next thing I know, he's falling off the bed and hitting the ground with a heavy thud and a breathless _fuck._

He doesn't even have time to get up before the door bursts open. 

It feels like time literally freezes. I stare at Baz on the ground, dressed in nothing more than his pants, hair a tousled mess and eyes wide with shock.

Then, I lift my eyes to find Penny standing in the doorway, looking half surprised, half like she's just sorted out the mystery of the century. I realise she's got a stack of books stuffed in her arms, and she's apparently struggling to not drop any of them.

I'm sure no more than a couple of seconds pass, but the awkwardness of the moment makes it feel like long minutes. Penny stares between me and Baz, taking in his half-naked and messy state. Then, finally, she starts moving.

"Fine, Simon, I really expect you to fill me in later," she kicks the door shut, dropping the books by my feet and rushing to our closet, "But I don't have time for this now. Here," Penny tosses a pair of Baz's trousers to me, "Get dressed." 

"These aren't mine," I say, looking over at Baz. His confused look matches mine. "What the fuck, Pen? What—" she tosses a shirt on my face. 

"We need to be _fast."_

"Hey, calm down." I get up and stand beside her in front of the closet, watching as she piles a bunch of clothes beside the books. I touch her arm lightly. "What is happening?" 

She finally stops for a moment and looks at me with wide eyes. "It's _happening,_ Simon." 

"You know, Bunce, that isn't much of an answer," Baz says coolly, lying on my bed and apparently trying to cover himself with my sheets. 

Penny shoots him a sideways glance and immediately grabs a shirt and trousers for him, too.

"I suppose you're coming with us." Is all she says. Then, she looks around the room. "We'll need a big suitcase." 

We both stare at her. _"Coming?_ A _suitcase?"_ Baz stammers, and a dumbfounded _What_ is all I can muster. 

"Come on, boys, help me here." She pleads, still going through our things frantically. "Grab everything you think you'll need." I notice the knot between her brows, the intense focus on her eyes. "We're leaving Watford." 

I stop at that. I can see Baz holding his breath as my lips move soundlessly. 

At last, I manage to blurt: "Why?" 

"Because…" Penny bites her lip, looking at me directly for the first time. "We need to, Si. This might be our last chance." 

I shake my head. I look at ground. Back to her, to Baz. I wait for the answer, an explanation, _why why why._ Something I can fight off and argue over. 

But Penny's look tells me that there's no fighting this. 

"The Mage has just declared war, Simon." 

**Baz**

I hear her voice but I don't want to understand what she's saying. 

I've heard it before, countless times—during sleepless, agitated nights, in the aftermath of nightmares. I knew this moment was coming. We all knew. 

But I let myself relax and revel in Snow's arms. I let myself believe that we had more time. Or a real chance—when we finally got together and all the walls separating us seemed to have tumbled down, well… it was like nothing could get between us anymore. We would fight whoever tried. 

Snow, Bunce and I—we made plans and we _frustrated_ plans. Every heist the Mage planned went mysteriously wrong; every move the Families tried to make failed. 

We undermined the advantages from both sides, and still...

_It wasn't enough._

I look at Simon, and he looks at me, but I'm not entirely sure we see each other. His eyes are as blank as I feel.

Because somehow I forgot about the last wall between us: the political one, that we're on opposite sides of a fucking _war._

Bunce shakes my shoulder and I snap out of my trance to look at her. She pushes the clothes into my arms again.

I get up and start dressing myself. 

"What? We're really doing it?" Simon asks, looking at me like I've gone mad. (To be honest, I'm right on the verge of insanity. He might well be the one to push me over the edge, on the end.) 

"Unless you have a better idea, Snow," I say, sliding into the shirt, "Yes, that's exactly what we're doing." 

"We can't leave!" He shouts, his face getting instantly red. The scent of sulfur and smoke fills my senses. "Leaving won't stop the war, Baz!" 

"Do you want to fight, then?" I sneer at him. "And which side are you fighting for, Simon?" 

"We don't need to fight for any of them, just stop them!" 

"And how—" 

" **Your attention, please!** " The spell hits us both at the same time, and I whip my head to look at Bunce. She's fuming at us, her ring hand held out in a fist. "If you two are done with this petty fight, we really need to go." 

Simon drops himself back in my bed and crosses his arms, a resolute look on his face, pulling the full-on stubborn child. "Just give me a good reason for it and we're out in ten minutes." 

"Fine." Bunce crosses her arms as well. _"You're_ the only reason the Mage dared to make this move, Simon. You're his advantage, his secret weapon or whatever. The only imbalance to this war." 

His face gets paler as he understands, and he looks a little sick. I take some steps closer, reach out to him. He lifts his eyes to me when I place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

"Simon," I want to sound comforting, but my voice comes out strangled. I swallow and try again. "Simon, you know it's true. You know… if you just go off, the war is over. The Families don't stand a chance, and the Mage wouldn't even need to lose any of his allies—" 

"I _won't_ do it!" He grabs my shirt, almost desperate, his eyes tearing up. "Baz, I'd never do it. He can't make me!" 

"But what if he _can,_ Snow?" I sit down beside him and take his face in my hands. "What if you lose control, and—"

He jerks away, looking hurt, and I feel my heart squeeze. "You really think—" 

"Fucking Crowley, Simon, that's not what I mean!" 

_"Simon."_ Bunce grabs his arm, making him look at her. "We don't know what the Mage is capable of, and I'd rather not discover. So please, _please,_ let's just go." 

He looks between us, shaking his head. "There must be another way." 

Looking at Bunce, I can practically see the gears working on her mind. She glances at her books, then turns back to Snow. She hesitates, then looks at _me._

"There _is_ another way, but… I'm not sure you'll like it." 

"Just spit it out, Bunce." 

She nods, looking between the two of us, then takes a deep breath. Holds out her arms, exhales, and then she speaks. 

My ears pop like the pressure in the room is suddenly dropping. My skin crawls like there's static in the air. 

It stops after a second, but then everything's different. I can hear Bunce's incredulous laugh, and Snow muttering _"What the fuck"_ right by my side; but it's muffled. Like we're underwater, the air feels denser. I glance through open windows, and the world out there…

It stops. There are birds frozen in flight, the trees bend to a breeze that isn't blowing for the moment, wavering no more. 

The world is frozen. _Time…_

"It works!" Bunce giggles. "I've been working on this spell for _three years,_ and it works!" 

Snow looks at her, amazement shining in his eyes. _"You stopped time?!"_

She nods, still grinning, then grabs a book from her stack. Is that…? Oh. _No._

"Now we've got some extra time to discuss. So, I had an idea that could work. There's this spell…" 

**Simon**

Baz hates the idea before Penny even states it aloud, but I don't care. Anything is better than leaving Watford—leaving _the World of Mages,_ because that's what it really means—to fight the Humdrum on their own. 

"This is _crazy,_ Bunce. You're fucking crazy. It's too dangerous, we just can't—" 

"We spent months studying these spells, Baz, and if I remember correctly, you were _top of that class._ So what's the problem? Do you think you can't cast them?" She asks, waving one of the books at his face. _The Great Vowel Shift of the Sixteenth Century,_ it says on the cover. 

"Oh, for Crowley's sake," Baz snarls, "You know how these spells are unpredictable, Bunce. And aside from that, how can you be so sure we're powerful enough to cast something like this?" 

"The kind of power required by these spells relies on the _intention_ and on how desperate the caster is. Which is why I think it can work well—" 

"What spell are you talking about?!" I ask, impatiently. I'm tired of just watching then arguing like I'm not here, or like my opinion doesn't matter. 

"It's too dangerous," Baz says, and Penny shouts "But it might work!" over his shoulder. 

"So?" I look at them. Baz shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. Penny flips through her book.

"Look, Simon, there's this spell." She comes to sit by my side on the bed. "I know it's… really specific, actually, but that's exactly why it could work so well." She stops at one of the later chapters, which reads _Shakespearean spells_ atop the page. 

"Wait. I remember these. Aren't they, like, illegal?" 

"Some of them are," Baz cuts in before Penny can answer, and it earns him an angry glance from her. He continues, unfaltering, "These spells are volatile and either extremely _specific_ or extremely _vague._ Oh, and most of them demand a stupid level of—" 

"Recklessness and foolish passion." Penny completes. "And I'm sure you both have enough of those." 

"What does it _do,_ anyway?" I ask. In the meantime, Baz has gotten fully dressed, and I'm still in my pyjama bottoms. 

Penny takes a deep breath. "Well, **Thus with a kiss** —" 

"Don't say it, Bunce," Baz snaps, standing by the open window, "Or else there's a risk you'll drop dead the next time anyone kisses you."

Penny rolls her eyes. "It doesn't even work like this." She turns back to me, looking suddenly unsure. "Okay, so… this is a _Romeo and Juliet_ spell, Simon." 

Baz cuts in, "It's a suicidal spell, Snow." 

"It's not!" Penny shouts. "It's a life-binding spell."

"Supposedly." 

"What does _that_ mean?" I ask. 

They stare at each other, then Penny sits by my side. 

"You know how in _Romeo and Juliet_ they die due to a misunderstanding, right?" Penny opens the book at that page again. "Romeo dies first, thinking his love is already gone; and his last words are _'Thus with a kiss I die.'"_

She says it without magic this time, and looks over to Baz. He rolls his eyes before continuing:

"The whole play was performed so many times that it didn't took long for the words to become magic. Especially when they were associated with such sappiness as _Romeo and Juliet—"_

"Because it's a tragic _love story._ They hold a deep meaning to the Normals. And one even deeper to _us."_ She goes on, "During the next two centuries, a lot of spells were discovered among the plays' most famous lines. And this is one of them." 

Baz sighs heavily. "It's a volatile spell. Some people believed it could tie the casters' lives together, but... it's unpredictable." 

"Romeo didn't die because of the kiss," Penny says, quietly, "But it was his last act. Before… well, he thought to be following Juliet. That's why so many people consider it a love vow." 

"To die at the same time, and never have to live without each other…" Baz trails off, still shaking his head. "How morbidly romantic." 

"Okay, right, I got it." I frown at them. "But how, exactly, can this spell help us?" 

"Just think about it, Simon." Penny settles her book aside and sighs. It sounds a little… pained, I don't know. I look at her more carefully, noticing how pale she is. The spell is still draining her magic. "Romeo and Juliet died because of the rivalry between their families. They were on opposite sides, in love but doomed to be enemies, star-crossed lovers. Everything sounds perfectly familiar to me." She pushes her glasses up her nose, looking at us emphatically. 

Baz just snorts. "Yes, it's incredibly convenient. That is, assuming the spell won't backfire and get the both of us killed on the spot." 

"This is not the point!" Penny gets up and stands before us. "The thing is that… well, if it _does_ work, then the war will be over before it even begins!" She says, taking a deep breath after. "If you two cast the spell, your lives will be tied together. Then, we can use that to force a negotiation. Because you're the Mage's only chance of victory, Simon, and to keep you alive, he'll have to guarantee that Baz is safe, too. And—" 

"And how is that any guarantee that it'll _stop the war,_ Bunce?" Baz cuts her, voice sharp. "The Mage could just keep me prisoner while he uses Snow to blow everything up." 

_"Baz—"_

"Or even worse," he looks right into my eyes, "He could use _me_ to make you lose control." 

"I—well…" Penny seems to think for an instant. "Yeah, you're right. But maybe if you go to the Families—" 

He keeps shaking his head. "It's not worth the risk, Bunce." 

"Then what do _you_ suggest? I—" Penny shakes her head lightly, pressing one hand to her forehead. "Nicks and Slicks…" 

I get up when she sways on her feet, reaching out to hold her. 

Penny clutches my arms, gasping. I feel the change immediately. The air becomes suddenly lighter, and everything comes back in full force, sound and light. Time starts flowing again, literally. 

"Fuck." I breathe, helping Penny sit down. That frantic look is back to her eyes. 

"We have to do it now," she says. 

"No fucking way." Baz deadpans. "There's no guarantee it'll work, Bunce." 

"But we must try—" her voice is much weaker now. Still, she whispers, "We should just leave, then." 

I feel like there's someone ripping me off the ground, breaking my roots. But I don't know what else to do. I need to get them out of here. 

"Okay," I say, finally putting on the shirt she gave me, "Baz, help me with our things. We might need magic to—" _Get out of here,_ I cut myself. 

Because when I turn to look at him, Baz is no longer there. 

He's gone, not a trace of him left in the air but a void of magic. Whisked away in a blink.

**Baz**

It happens so fast that I'm left breathless, my head spinning and trying to process what I'm seeing. 

In a minute, I'm standing beside Snow, looking out the window, and I can see the school's gates. Then, on the next moment, I feel something pulling at my chest, and a loud, creaking sound fills my ears. 

A gush of wind and magic engulfs me.

Now, I'm still looking at the gates, but from _outside._ The tower is far high in the sky, and I can't fathom more than a shadow peeking out the window. 

It takes me a moment to understand what just happened. The world around me spins and I sway on my feet. Then it hits me: Aleister _fucking Crowley,_ someone summoned me.

 _Fuck,_ no. No no no no it can't— 

A hand closes around my forearm, fingers digging painfully into my flesh. 

"We must go now, boy." Fiona's voice is urgent as she practically drags me through the gravel road that leads up to the gates. I'm not even surprised to see a black car waiting for us ahead. 

_No._

My limbs are numb and my ears are full of static. I can't think past the white noise. It's probably a side effect of the spell she cast to summon me—teleportation spells are always complicated and draining, but to use them on another person, especially without any previous warning… 

I think I'm going to throw up. 

I have no energy to resist when Fiona shoves me into the car and sits by my side. It's a terrible sign, and it makes my guts twist even more. 

She doesn't trust me. Someone else is driving, and she takes the back seat to watch me. 

"What the fuck is happening?" I ask, not even trying to sound collected. "Where are we going?" 

"Hampshire." She says, giving me a pointed look. "Didn't you hear, boy? That bastard just declared war. I need to take you away before he can lock you in a fucking tower." 

"I'm aware of _that."_ I say. I need to physically restrain myself from looking back. I don't want to see Watford vanishing in the distance, to think about Snow there _._ If I do, I might just jump out of the moving car. "What I don't understand is why you couldn't use the fucking stairs, Fiona." 

She snorts at that. "And risk getting _myself_ locked in a tower? Don't be ridiculous." 

I shake my head and grimace, partially to spite her, partially to clear my thoughts. The fact that the car is shaking down the gravel road doesn't exactly help. 

"Fine. What's the plan, then? Will Father convoke a war council?" 

"We'll see." Her tone is neutral, and she keeps sending me sideway glances. 

If these were normal circumstances, she would be driving and I'd take the front seat. Fiona would probably be blasting music and we'd both sing along from the top of our lungs. We'd be talking, swearing and laughing. 

But these aren't normal circumstances, so Fiona doesn't grace me with her usual snarky comments. The silence lays heavy between us, so tense it's like time is frozen again. Like I can cut it with a knife. 

"I left my wand." I tell her, finally breaking the silence. "... And my clothes. And—" 

"You've got plenty of clothes in Hampshire." She says. "And I doubt you're going to need a wand during this period, but we'll figure something out when the time comes." 

I just keep looking straight forward and belt up, all the while being scrutinized by my Aunt. 

*******

I've never seen Pitch Manor so crowded. 

Even when there's a lot of people—when my parents host a party or a fancy dinner—it never _feels_ crowded, not like this. 

Now, there are enough people to overflood the hallways, pacing around, in and out of rooms, through doors I'd never seen open. They talk about war—provisions, armament, strategy. They also talk about _avoiding_ war, though there's no enthusiasm in their voices when this is the subject. 

That's everything I know, though. Vague information, overheard conversations. Usually, I'd be invited to each and every one of these meetings, and forced to endure the endlessly long speeches with a straight face, seated between Fiona and my father. 

Not this time. It doesn't take long for me to realise that these people don't trust me.

They're always around—as if the fact that these people have taken over my house isn't enough, they're also breathing down my neck all the time, watching closely. 

And even though no one's put bars on my windows, I know I'm not exactly free to go out whenever I feel like it. 

There's always someone keeping me occupied during important meetings. It's been like this all week. They won't even let me go out to hunt; father says the chance of someone catching me is too high. 

So now I spend almost all the time locked inside my room, pretending I'm here just because I want to. That I still have a thread of control over my situation. Trying not to think that everything's lost. 

Someone knocks on the door, forcefully. I sigh. She _knows_ it's not locked. 

"You know there's no need to knock the fucking door down every time, don't you?" I ask when Fiona enters the room, my voice sharp. She snorts. 

"I just think it's nice to warn you before interrupting your privacy, boyo. Whatever."

I shrug, turning when she places a tray over the table. Two cups of tea. Fiona gestures for me to sit down beside her on the sofa. I do. 

"So," she hands me a tea-cup, "how are your friends doing at Watford?" 

I take a sip, not even blinking. "How would I know? I haven't talked to any of them in a week." 

She laughs, and it feels like there's something climbing up my spine in the worst way possible. "Don't try that with me, Basil." Fiona turns to look me dead in the eye, her look piercing. 

"I…" I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "Try _what,_ exactly?" 

Fiona just shakes her head. "Do you really want me to believe you haven't been talking to your boyfriend this whole time? Didn't try to contact him even once?" 

I stare into my tea, my hand trembling slightly. _Boyfriend._ I put the cup down before I spill any of it on my clothes. Is there any point in denying, really? 

"I haven't, actually." I say quietly, not daring to meet her eyes. 

A second passes in silence, then she sets her cup down as well, carelessly, the tea spilling. 

"I never thought…" she keeps shaking her head, in disbelief. "Well, I never thought we would really get to this point. Having to fight a fucking _war…_ risk so many magical lives, all because a foolish boy couldn't do something so _simple_ as—" 

"It's never been simple!" I cut her off, and we're both snarling now. "You act like the politics don't really affect people. What about those who live in between? Or those who never really have a choice, whose opinions are never asked for? To you, there's only the Mage, and all you care about is taking him down!" 

Her face goes livid, and for a moment I think she's going to slap me. "Do you even hear yourself? The Chosen One waves his mighty sword at you a couple of times and suddenly your heart goes all soft?! Easy like that, you've forgotten about your mother's legacy, about everything she used to stand for? And to say I only care about the Mage—" 

"First of all," my jaw is so tense it hurts, "there's no _suddenly,_ Fiona. I've been in love with Simon Snow for years. Yes," I say when she glares at me, "ever since I met him. I was already in love with him when you gave me that tape recorder and I almost stole his voice." _Every fucking time I hurt him, it hurt me twice as much_ , but I don't tell her. Or that if I ever succeeded—if I did, in fact, manage to destroy him… it would've destroyed me as well.

I look away, trying to catch my breath, and wait for her next blow. The sharp words that have been echoing in my head for years—that I'm a disgrace to the Pitch name, that my mother would be disgusted if she could see me somehow, that Fiona should have dropped me on the Thames— 

None of it comes, though. 

"Davy is a dickhead," she says, voice dripping venom, "and there are few things I wouldn't give to see him wrecked. You're one of them." My head snaps in her direction, and she snorts. "Why so surprised, Basil? In fact, if I still care about _one person_ in this shitty world, it's you." 

I blink at her a few times. "You—but you…" 

"I've always tried my best to protect you, you know. To be a cool aunt." She sighs. "I never imagined you could feel like this for Snow, all things considered. So I'm... _sorry_ for putting you through this, boy." She lets out through gritted teeth. "I think we shouldn't discuss this now."

"I agree." 

Fiona rubs a hand over her face and looks at me darkly. (Just underneath the raging surface, I can see she's tired.) "How did this happen, after all? Simon fucking Snow, Basilton!" 

"I know!" I huff. "It's a long story. Trust me when I say you don't want to hear the details." 

"Whatever," she says, refilling her cup with more tea. "We still need to figure something out. The war won't stop itself." 

I nod, ideas revolving in my mind, but nothing comes out. I can't think of anything other than—

I can't believe I'm entertaining this idea. I can't believe there's nothing else we can do. 

I sit up straight. "How much time do we have?" 

"We estimate the Mage is planning to attack within a week," Fiona says, eyeing me warily, "so we're marching over to Watford tomorrow." 

_"Tomorrow?!"_ I squeak. "And why the fuck are you only telling me this _now?"_

"I shouldn't be telling you anything!" She huffs, crossing her arms. "The Council decided you won't be coming with us." 

"Shit." I grab my hair in a fistful. "Fuck. Fiona, you need to convince them—" 

"I tried my best to advocate for you, Basilton, but they won't listen. And don't look at me like this, I _warned_ you." 

"Just… please, I need to be there! I can stop this." 

My aunt shakes her head sharply. "Some people think that maybe the war shouldn't be stopped." 

"But you just said—" I stop myself, try to recollect my thoughts. "Think about the magical lives, Fiona, wasted in a useless war. We all should be fighting against the Humdrum, not against each other." 

"You know bloody well we did everything we could!" She hisses. "Your father tried to call a truce multiple times, but _the Mage_ wants war. We've been divided for too long. Both sides want resolution." 

"We're going to lose! You know Simon can wipe us in a single neat blow and it will be over." 

"Then what's your brilliant plan?! How are you going to take the Chosen one down if you're too weak to hurt him?"

"I do have a plan this time!" I say, sounding more certain than I feel. "I do, actually." 

_I'm stupidly in love and willing to die for Simon Snow._

Fiona scrutinizes me, her eyes full of suspicion. "Remind me again what happened the last time you said that." 

"Fiona, please, you have to trust me. Just give me one more chance." 

"How dangerous is this plan of yours?" She asks, squinting at me. 

"Possibly lethal." 

"Are you going to need anything?" 

"I just need to be there," I sigh. _I just need to get to him._ "And I might need a wand." 

**Simon**

I walk through the rows of mages, waiting just before the White Chapel. There aren't many of them—some dozens, I think—but aligned like this, all uniformed, dressed like the Mage's Men, they do resemble an army. 

Most of them aren't much older than me. Some eighth year students, some who left Watford a couple of years ago. I recognize these people, I remember them. 

And even if they don't remember me, exactly, they do know who I am. The Mage insisted that I wear an armour to go with the Sword of Mages. He said that it helps inspire the soldiers (I swear he called them like that.) 

Besides, I look utterly stupid dressed like this. _Shining armour_ my ass, I feel like a fucking clown. (I keep wondering what Baz would say if he saw me. The endless teasing and snarky comments. Shit, do I miss him.) 

The fact is that we are going to war. _For real._ I know that this more symbolic than anything, though. These people, these _soldiers…_ they're not here to fight, really. Sure, everyone expects it. They're prepared for it. 

But they won't, if everything goes according to plan. That is, if I blow up first. 

The Mage has been reuniting with the Coven all week, trying to get their support, but even the members who used to support him on the past aren't in favor of this onslaught. So he's on his own. 

We haven't had classes in a week; a third of the students are gone, and more leave everyday. Penelope, Agatha and I are trying to discover what the Mage is planning, but he keeps us under scrutiny all the time. His Men have been patrolling the school grounds, looking out for any suspicious activity. 

(The Mage still suspects that someone is spying on him. Which was true, until last week, when the Families took Baz and I was left to lead a fucking army. Sort of.) 

The thing is… I'm not entirely sure he's _got_ a plan. Sometimes I think he's just desperate.

Heading into war without a plan or resources, all strategy thrown out the window. As far as I know, I'm his last hope.

Which is why this plan might work. I stand before the Mage's Men, pretending to judge their posture. I draw my sword—someone polished it, and the weight feels different in my hand. (Probably because of these stupid gauntlets.) 

That's when the screaming starts, and I see someone running across the Lawn towards us. I recognize him as Penny's brother a second later, but don't wait to find out what he's got to say. Instead I start running on the opposite direction, sprinting to the Cloisters to get Penelope. 

Guess our time is over. 

**Baz**

There's one force moving the universe, and it isn't Magic. 

It's _irony._

We're standing just before Watford's gates, waiting. There's an inscription on the crossbar: _Magic separates us from the world;_ it says, _let nothing separate us from each other._

And yet, these gates are the last thing standing between the Mage and the Old Families. We watch as his army marches over from the other side. Both sides ready to get into battle.

There aren't many of them. I imagine their main purpose is to keep us out, in case we try to invade the school. 

But we aren't many, either. Each Family sent only a couple of members; no one too important and no one too young. 

Just in case I fail, and Crowley knows how heavy this responsibility feels over my shoulders. Just in case none of us survive this day. 

But we _will,_ I remind myself. I just need to take Simon away—from the war and from these people, somewhere safe. Away, away, away— 

I clench my jaw when they get close enough that I'm able to see the Mage, walking ahead of his small army. And right beside him, apparently leading, there comes…

Well, fuck me. 

The vision of him is blinding for a moment—sunlight reflecting on polished metal, gauntlets and breastplate and pauldrons; golden skin and bronze curls, he's all sun, all bright. 

Simon Snow looks stunning in a suit of armor. 

**Simon**

"Are you ready, son?" The Mage asks, placing a hand on my left shoulder. 

I nod shortly. He only ever calls me "son" when we're about to do something dangerous. I wonder why. 

We stop right before the gates. The Mage takes a step forward, and they swing open with a gesture of his arm. 

Now. Here. There's nothing more between Baz and me. I can see him at the first line, standing beside Malcolm Grimm, his Aunt Fiona not far behind. I squint against the sun, trying to see his face. I wonder if someone will try to stop me if I just run straight to him. 

I send a sideways glance to Penny, and she nods. 

This is it, then. The moment we've been waiting for, dreading. I remember making peace with the idea of me and Baz always being on opposite sides, only ever looking at each other from afar.

That peace is gone, though, and it's been a long time since I decided to fight for us. To break down the walls between us with my own hands, if necessary. 

"You know what to do, Simon." The Mage whispers to me. I nod again. 

I take my right hand to my left side and murmur an enchantment. 

I don't even need to push magic into the words. Of all the spells I've ever learned in my life, this is the only one that comes rightfully and naturally to me. 

_In justice._

I search for his eyes, feeling something like determination take hold of me. My voice doesn't falter, my knees don't buckle. 

_In courage._

Our eyes lock, and my heart thumps harder. never been so sure of anything in my life. 

_In defence of the weak._

This is our final fight, just as we've always known it would be. At opposite sides of a war, ahead of enemy armies, this is the last time Baz and I will stare at each other like this. 

_In the face of the mighty._

The last time, I promise myself. 

_Through magic and wisdom and good._

The hilt is solid in my hand, as the ground beneath my feet. I lurch forward with no hesitation, the Sword of Mages ready in case anyone tries to stop me. 

The right thing—I know what to do. I keep my eyes trained on him as the magic makes my blood boil, lightning sparking through my muscles, giving me strength and speed and certainty. 

Like a flash, in an instant, Baz is running too, running to me. 

I take hold of the thing growing in my chest—the power, the lightning—and use all the control I can muster to keep it in for one more moment. Just until I can reach him. 

**Baz**

Simon Snow is blurred around the edges, running at a speed I've never seen him run before, sword in hand and armor glistening and he's coming right to _me._

I don't know what we're doing, or what's about to happen. The moment he started running, I just knew I had to go to him. 

The air, the ground, my heart—everything pulses with his magic, and I need to get him away before he explodes. 

I don't take my eyes off his face as we approach each other, I don't even care about the sharp sword he's holding. 

In the end, Simon Snow will be the death of me, whether he decides to stab me or not. 

But he doesn't—kill me, I mean. Not right at this moment. Instead, he drops the sword at the last moment, letting it fall to ground. 

We crash into each other in the middle of the battlefield. 

**Simon**

_Now I've got you right_ _where I want you,_ I think as I throw my arms around Baz and lock him against my chest. _And I'm not letting go._

Wait. Just one more second. The magic within me wants to crash, but I need to hold on. 

I focus on the feeling of Baz's soft hair on my face, inhale his scent, and think about home. About taking him home. Somewhere safe, somewhere far away, just _anywhere but here—_

**Baz**

I'm about to ask him what's wrong when someone else collides with us, and another pair of arms is thrown around my body. 

"Simon, _now!"_ Bunce's voice rings in my ears. 

Then… 

**Simon**

This doesn't feel like going off. I don't think that's what I'm doing—sure, the magic is going out, I can feel it leaving my body. 

But this time it's going somewhere, not just exploding around me. 

It feels like a wave crashing over me, throwing me back, and then the ocean—the magic—sweeps me away, and I'm caught in the undertow. 

I hold on to the two people I love most and drag them with me. 

**Baz**

I expect a gush of sulfur and fire and magic, but it never comes. 

Instead, it feels like we're falling—the ground is suddenly gone, and we're falling through the air. 

The air is pushed out of my lungs when the three of us fall heavily to the ground, Bunce landing on top of me, my right arm smashed under Simon's armor. 

"What… _fuck."_ I hear him swear. Then, when Bunce rolls off me, I can finally lift my head to look around. 

We're in the middle of a clearing. 

_Fuck,_ indeed. 

**Simon**

The dryness in the air hits me first. 

My throat feels sore like I just spent a long time screaming. I draw in a breath, and it feels like there's sand in my tongue, going inside my lungs, already filling my head. 

Then, there's a sensation of _unbecoming._ Like someone's pulling a loose thread and dismantling me. I'm turning into smoke and dissipating in the air, I'm being sucked into nothing, and I _know._

This is a dead spot. Or rather a _dying_ spot.

I look up. There's nothing here, just us— 

Then I see him. 

He's throwing a red rubber ball into the air, catching it without looking, like he's been doing it forever. He can't be older than eleven. 

He lets it fall to the ground, and the red ball bounces back up into his hands. 

"Hey," he _—it—he?—_ calls. "I thought you weren't coming." 

"Merlin, Morgana and Methuselah," Penny whispers. 

He's the one unmaking me. Pulling at the loose threads. 

He throws the ball forward, and it bounces in my direction. I catch it out of reflex. 

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. There's ringing in my ears, my eyes burn, my skin itches. 

I think someone's screaming. 

**Baz**

Simon's screaming like he's under a curse. 

He sounds pained, desperate, and each scream that rips out of his throat cuts straight to my heart. 

I scan him, looking for wounds, but he's all covered in metal. 

I don't know what's happening, I just need to help him. 

Breathing is hard. When I do manage to inhale, an irony scent fills my lungs. Iron, copper, red, warm. Alive, alive, _alive._

Fuck. 

Simon's holding something and screaming at someone. He's not bleeding through any visible wounds—the blood is just… pouring from his pores. 

I jerk away from him, a hand covering my mouth and nose. There's the familiar itch in my gums. 

I need to get away from him, look away—then I see _it._

Him? 

He looks… so familiar. 

Worn jeans and stained shirt, dirty cheeks, a knowing smile. His hair is a mop of curls. His eyes are plain blue and shining and devious.

My mind can barely process what I'm seeing.

"What do you want?!" Simon bellows, reaching for his hip, but his sword isn't there. _"Show your face!"_

"I was hoping we could have some fun together," says the Humdrum, and _fuck,_ even his voice is familiar. "Do you know how to play football? I never have anyone to play with!" 

" _No!_ Stop this! Show your real face!" 

"Simon," I reach for him, my hand trembling. "Simon, that's you." 

**Simon**

The world is upside down and shaken. I look at Baz, but he's staring at that thing, dread filling his eyes. "What?! Baz, that's the fucking _Humdrum!"_

"It's _you."_

"I'm not the Humdrum!" I can barely hear my own voice over the rattling noise in my ears.

"He's not wrong at all, you know." I turn around when the boy speaks (fuck, _fuck),_ and realise he's taken some steps towards us. He grins. "I'm only what's left when you're done." 

I want to scream, because _what does this mean,_ and _why are you doing it,_ but I can't anymore—my voice is too weak, my throat too sore.

It feels like I'm about to fall to the ground.

**Baz**

We need to get out of here. I can feel the magic being sucked from my body, and something like _thirst_ twisting in my guts. 

I grab Snow's arm when he tumbles forward. _Come on, love, we need to go now._

I finally get a glimpse of what he's holding: it's a red rubber ball. He's clutching it so tightly his knuckles are white. 

I remember this bloody thing: it's the same ball Snow kept throwing back and forth during all of our first year. 

I'm still looking at it when Bunce pushes me aside and pries it off Simon's hand. We both watch, stunned, as she throws it away, making the ball bounce into the woods. 

The boy doesn't blink before turning to run before it. 

Bunce grabs us both by the collar. "Come on! _Now."_

We finally move, running despite exhaustion, farther and faster than I thought we could. 

**Simon**

We don't stop running until we reach the road. 

I really don't know what now. We're all panting, disheveled, physically and magically spent. I can only imagine how terrible we must look. My skin is covered in blood droplets, and Penny is in a similar state. I'm wearing half of a medieval armor (the rest got thrown away while we were still running), and Baz keeps some distance from us, covering his mouth with one hand. 

I still feel a bit light headed, but now, at least, it doesn't feel like I'm being sucked out of my body. 

We keep walking along the road. Baz and Penny try to cast spells to make a car stop for us, but none of them succeed. 

"So," Baz starts, staring at the gravel road as we walk, "I'm assuming you two thought this through and actually have a plan. Right? Because you never do anything on impulse." 

Penny huffs. "What was _your_ plan, anyway? It didn't seem like you were doing much, just hugging Simon—" 

"Hey, listen, now isn't the time for this, okay?" I speak up, and they both turn to glare at me. I shrug. "The plan is simple enough: we go back to Watford and stop the war. Then, I'll have to tell the Mage about what we just saw—" 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Baz takes some steps towards me, searching my face like he genuinely believes this is a joke. "And how, exactly, will this go, Snow?" 

"Actually, I think we've had this conversation before, Baz." 

"Yeah, and you still don't have any answers." He says, his tone biting, his eyes tired and more than a little desperate. "First of all: we don't even know where the bloody hell we _are._ Don't even get me started on the 'let's end this war' part, Snow. As for going back, well… we won't." 

"Wh _—what?!"_ I stammer, staring as Baz turns on his heels and keeps walking. The wanker has got long legs, so I need to speed up to catch up with him. "Baz, we _need_ to go back! What the fuck are you thinking?!" 

"It's simple, Snow." He raises both eyebrows at me. "If you're not there, there's no war. The Mage hasn't got enough support to carry on with it, and the Families probably won't get involved if they can easily win politically." 

"But _Baz,"_ I grab his arm, making him turn around and finally face me. "What about the Humdrum? We can't just let that go, you know. It won't stop sucking magic, for Merlin's sake! You just saw what it's capable of!" 

"I did, indeed. But I also saw that you're not ready to fight that thing." He says, crossing his arms. "Let the Mage and the Families deal with it. We can just go away, Simon. _Far_ away. Maybe we could start over _right here—"_ he gestures around, at the desert road and the trees, "—wherever middle of nowhere you've brought us to. Maybe that's destiny, you know? Maybe—"

"Lancashire." Penny cuts us, looking annoyed. "This middle of nowhere is Lancashire." 

"How do you know?" I ask, gaping at her. 

Penny waves her hand at us, showing off her purple ring. "We've got magic, remember?" Then, she points at a sign further down the road. "And signalization. Let's go, we're not far from town." 

Baz huffs, then starts walking again.

I keep my feet planted firm on the ground and don't move an inch until they turn to look at me. 

"What's your problem, now?" Baz asks, throwing his hands up. 

"I've got an answer for you." I say, crossing my arms over my breastplate. "We _are_ going to Watford. I can't just turn my back on the magical world, Baz. I can't let the Humdrum destroy it. You _know_ I can't." 

He gapes at me for a moment, and I watch as he decides that there's no point in arguing this. He approaches me again. 

"Right, then. And what about the Mage? The Families and the war?" He snorts, running a hand through his (perfectly messy) hair. "This has been the problem all along, hasn't it? Everything comes down to this." 

"I know," I nod, taking more steps towards him. "But we both know what to do, Baz. You know we need to do it, _now._ We can't predict what will happen if we don't go back sooner rather than later." 

"Snow—" he cuts himself, rubs his face, swallows. "You'd better not be talking about that fucking spell." 

"I am." 

"There must be another way!" 

"Maybe there is, Baz." I take the final steps, approaching him until we're chest to chest. "But the thing is that our time is over. This is what's left for us." 

Then, finally, he nods. Slowly, weakly. 

**Baz**

I know I've considered this idea before, I _know_ they're right.

Reckless, all-consuming, hopeless love. That's all we have. 

I never thought we'd make it anyway, did I? We've already come way far than I thought we would. I got to hold Simon Snow in his sleep. I got to kiss his mouth and his freckles, the tip of his nose, his eyelids. I got everything.

Except I didn't, it wasn't nearly enough to tame the feelings that have been churning inside my chest for years. 

But then again, I've always been prepared to sacrifice myself for Simon Snow. 

And he's always been prepared to sacrifice _himself_ for the World of Mages. 

So what's a little sacrifice for each other? 

"Simon," I start, reaching tentatively for his hand. "Binding spells are dangerous, unpredictable and irreversible. So—" 

"It doesn't need to be," he cuts me, looking deep into my eyes and squeezing my hand. "Don't you see? We're practically reliving _Romeo and Juliet,_ Baz. Maybe we can _bound_ the spell to our situation." He glances at Penelope, asking for help. 

"We researched," she says, approaching us. "I know it's well unpredictable, but it's also terribly specific, right? So we were thinking, maybe, with the right amount of magic, we could…" Bunce gestures between us, "We could make it temporary. You two would be tied for as long as the war went on." 

I only stare at them for a moment. "You're right. It's _terribly specific._ Impossible, I would say." 

"Not for my magic." Simon says. 

I keep staring at him, the moment drags on. I can think of a million ways it can go wrong. Mostly, I can think of a million reasons why I simply don't like this idea. 

_What if you change your mind one day? What if you realise what a terrible mistake it was to tie our hearts together?_

But it doesn't have to be forever. 

_If I fall, I don't want to drag you down with me, Simon Snow._

It can be temporary. We'll stop the war, and then hopefully the spell will untie. Hopefully, we'll both survive. 

_Then, I'd be the dagger aimed at your heart, and you'd be the poison in my veins._

That's not much of a change, is it? 

"Okay," I struggle to breathe. "But there's no way in Seven Hells I'm letting you cast this spell, Snow." 

"It's okay, Baz." He squeezes my hand even harder. "You cast it. I'll just give you the magic you need." 

"How—" 

Then I feel it like a shock, like electricity, like light traveling through my body. 

**Simon**

I don't know what I'm doing, or even how, but it seems to be working. 

This feels… easy. Like putting the pieces together in a puzzle, and for the first time we can see the whole picture. Like finding something, like lighting a match. 

It makes sense, it feels right. 

Baz closes his eyes and inhales deeply for a moment. He doesn't seem to be in pain, though. 

So I keep pushing, giving, and he keeps taking. 

**Baz**

I never thought something could feel like this. 

There's no limit to this power. It's making my blood sing in my veins and my skin crawl with shivers. The magic waits on the tip of my tongue, ready to come out in a string of words and make anything possible.

 _Blow on the tinder,_ I hear a whisper at the back of my head. 

But _I'm_ the tinder, this time. Simon Snow has just set me alight. There's no spell I can't cast, no chorus I can't sing. Right now, everything seems so easy. 

All we have to do is kiss. 

I hold my wand, taste these words, _this magic._

" **Thus with a kiss…** " Simon's eyes never leave mine, nor his hand, nor his magic. His other hand threads up into my hair and urges me forward until our foreheads crash. "... **I die**." 

Then I kiss him. 

Linked lips, linked fates. 

_I'm going to die kissing Simon Snow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... This is it, folks! The epilogue should be up sometime until next week (... hopefully.) (I'm kidding, I swear it'll be up before the month is over haha)  
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This kiss is a promise. That we'll get an endgame. No matter what happens, we'll be there for each other. 
> 
> Well, we're going to carry on like we will." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. The Epilogue. The end. (..Or rather a beginning, perhaps?)  
> Anyway, I would like to thank every one of you who stuck with me for this adventure.  
> To everyone who read this, who left a kudos or a comment, everyone who kept thinking about it during the long pauses between updates: thank you. For your patience; for your kindness and for your encouragement 💕💕💕💕💕💕  
> I love you all, and I hope this ending is worth the wait.

_June, End-of-year ceremony_

**Simon**

I've been staring at Baz from across the White Chapel for almost an hour, but to no avail. He's sitting with his family at the other side of the aisle, his back straight and his face a mask of seriousness, looking forward all the time.

Penny elbows my side, and I turn to look at her, confused. 

"You could at least pretend to be paying attention," she whispers. 

I roll my eyes. "I am _trying_ ," I say. "It's not my fault Elspeth's speech has been going on for half an hour. You really can't expect me to pay attention for that long." 

She huffs. "Look forward, then. That way is more convincing." 

I sigh, but do as she says, even though it's difficult to tear my eyes away from Baz. (Isn't it always?) 

He's beautiful today. I mean, of course he's beautiful _everyday,_ but today is special. After all, tomorrow is the first day of _Summer._

And, well, I'm looking forward to this Summer. For some reason, I've got a good feeling about it. 

The ceremony goes on, and I start fidgeting with my tie. There's this nervous energy in the air, typical of the last day of school. (I can't believe this is almost over.) 

When I turn to him again, Baz is finally looking at me. The eagerness must be showing off on my face, because he grins smugly and raises both eyebrows at me. 

_"Already thinking of me?"_ He mouths. 

_"All the fucking time,"_ I mouth back. 

I know we aren't nearly as discreet as we should be, but I don't care. I notice how the Mage clenches his jaw and, to be honest, it gives me a bit of satisfaction. 

We got really good at this during the past weeks, Baz and I. I rarely got to see him during the negotiations—which took way longer than I expected, but at least _happened._ The Mage and the Families suddenly decided we were a threat to each other (as if _they_ aren't responsible for that), so they kept us apart during that time. 

Everything's been a haze since the War started—or rather _ended._ After countless meetings, the Coven and the Old Families finally got to an agreement. In the end, it was decided that the Mage would keep his position as Watford's Headmaster, but he isn't head of the Coven anymore. 

Now, Davy shares his place in front of the room with Penny's mum—the Coven and the Families both agreed that Mitali would be a good leader during this moment of transition, considering she was mostly impartial in the almost war. 

Which is _over._ It feels like I can sprout a pair of wings and take off the ground, considering how light I feel right now. 

During the brief moments we've stolen between meetings, Baz and I still haven't talked about that day. Mostly because we're usually too busy snogging to care about anything else, but sometimes we'd use some of those precious minutes to talk. Just Baz and I, throwing some banter back and forth like we always do; pretending things were… normal. 

We didn't talk about _that_ kiss, though. Not about the minutes we stopped breathing and our bodies went limp—on the side of that road in the middle of nowhere, drained and exhausted, it felt like our lives were hanging by a thread. 

A thread tying our hearts together, quite literally. 

Thinking about this now makes my skin crawl, so I shake my head and try to focus on my surroundings. The Chapel is crowded with students and their parents, everyone seeming increasingly impatient as the ceremony goes on. (I mean, we all _already know_ about your perfect attendance record, Elspeth. No need to go on another eight years talking about it.) 

I don't fail to notice we're… divided, somehow. The tension in the air is palpable, even after a month: the Old Families have taken over one half of the nave, while the rest of us took the other. 

(Also, I can see the way the Mage is looking at them, and, from times to times, at _me)._

He definitely wasn't happy when I came back and told him what happened—what I _did._ I didn't leave him any choice then: The Mage called a truce that same day, and the negotiations started a week after.

I hold his gaze now, jutting my chin out instinctively. I told him about the Humdrum—how it apparently took my _face._ Baz and Penny were both apprehensive about it; we didn't understand what that meant, and they thought I shouldn't trust the Mage. 

But I told him anyway, and he just dismissed my concerns, instead scolding me for _being so foolish as to fall in Basilton's traps—_

And then I stopped listening. I haven't really listened to him since.

I sigh in relief when the ceremony is finally over, getting up and clapping. _(Fucking finally._ ) My eyes search through the crowd, looking for slicked hair, a perfectly tailored uniform and—

Grey eyes that never leave mine. 

I smile a bit when he turns slightly to stare at me. There's warmth spreading from my face, down my neck and up the tips of my ears. Baz smiles, too, and then he _blinks._

Like he knows something I don't. A secret. A surprise. 

The ceremony is over after a few words from Mitali (and even fewer from the Mage), and people start leaving. I let myself get carried by the crowd towards the Chapel's great doors, then linger there, waiting for Baz to catch up with me. 

I see him among the dispersing crowd, but then someone stops right before me, blocking him. 

I lift my eyes to find Fiona Pitch staring down her nose at me, crossed arms and a wicked smile on her lips. 

"Chosen One," she tilts her head. "Please answer honestly. Are you loud in bed?" 

I sputter. It feels like my head is on fire, because _what the fuck._ "I, _uh,_ I _—we_ don't even do that! And that's not your fucking business!" I grunt. "You can't just come up to someone and ask something like _that!"_

Fiona scowls at me. "I don't see why not. Besides," she clicks her tongue, leaning closer to me and whispering, "I meant snoring, you dirty-minded oaf." 

"Ah! Uh. Yeah, right," I nod, feeling even more embarrassed, but Baz's aunt just arches an eyebrow at me (just like he does), looking amused. 

"Chill, boyo. I just need to know what my nephew has been subjecting himself to." She hooks a finger under my chin, and I flinch. "Your pretty face put him in a good amount of trouble, did you know that?" 

I gulp. _Of course,_ I want to say, but the truth is that I only have the slightest idea. It's visible how tense things are between him and the rest of his family, even in the brief moments I've seen them interact.

That doesn't seem to be the case with Fiona, though.

"I never meant to cause problems for Baz," I say, tentatively. "I mean, I did _before._ But not since we… Huh, you know." 

"Reckon I don't." 

I sigh. "Right, look, I—" _love him,_ I bite my tongue in time, "—really care about Baz. Okay? I never meant to complicate things for him, but… I just think you should know that he chose that, too." _He chose me._

She looks at me skeptically, then huffs, stepping back. "All right, then. Just one more thing," Fiona places one hand on my shoulder, squeezing painfully, and looks right into my eyes as she says, "Remember, if you break his heart, I'll hunt you down and break every single bone in your body in return." 

I nod, staring as she walks away. (I mean, I'm not worried about that. Nope. Not in the slightest.) 

I look around again, looking for Baz, and… well, there he comes. Up the aisle, in my direction. 

Baz comes to me. 

"Hey," I breathe, not even trying to contain my smile. 

"Hey," he smiles as well, reaching out to take my hand, and I intertwine our fingers. "What did Fiona want? Or was she just trying to scare you?"

"Scaring me, definitely," I laugh half-heartedly. "Which worked, by the way. She's terrifying. Hey, Baz, what if we use your aunt to scare the Humdrum away, huh?" 

Baz just rolls his eyes, bumping my shoulder in the way out. I smile at the sensation of his hand in mine, of the sun on my face and the gentle summer breeze blowing around us. 

"Do you want to grab something at the kitchen?" He asks instead of answering. Fair enough, I think. Talking about the Humdrum would definitely make my appetite go away.

"Sure." 

**Baz**

Simon grabs sandwiches at the kitchen, and I grab a spare blanket from our bedroom. We settle down under the shadow of an oak next to the moat. 

It's one of those days between Summer and Spring: hot, but there's still a cool breeze sweeping over the lawn; the grass is bright green and the air is full of light. I can see the occasional merwolf glaring at us from the moat, sharp fins breaking the quiet surface of the water. 

Still, I can't take my eyes off Snow. He took his blazer off as soon as we left the Chapel, and now he's got his sleeves rolled up, too. His hair is an abundant mess of bronze curls, which means he'll be shaving it soon (it breaks my heart a little). His skin is tawny and golden under the sun, and I'm itching to trace his freckles with my lips. 

Simon notices me staring and grins through a mouthful of sandwich. I roll my eyes, but I can't stop smiling. He's beautiful even while stuffing his face with food. 

"What?" He asks, chewing with his mouth open. 

"Crowley, Snow, _manners."_ I fake a grimace, though I can tell he's not fooled by it. (My lips twitch upwards; I can't help it. Everything in me gives away how much I love everything in _him.)_

He has the audacity to grin at me, the numpty. I take a piece off my sandwich and throw it at him. (Snow eats it, of course. _"No one wastes food on my watch.")_

I shake my head slowly, in disbelief, and Snow chokes on his food while laughing. 

"That's what you get for eating like an animal," I say, patting him on the back.

"Christ, Baz, just relax," he says between coughs, and the numpty is still _smiling_. "Let's just enjoy the moment, yeah? Manners and etiquette be damned, the school year is _over._ We're _free."_ He thinks for a bit, then frowns at me, "Well, at least until the next monster attacks us." 

I laugh, poking him on the side. "Fine, I get. How does it feel to be right for once, Snow?" 

Simon shoves at my chest playfully, just hard enough that I let myself fall backwards. I just lay here, laughing, and he hovers above me for a moment, framed by sunlight.

 _Crowley, you're so beautiful_ , I think as he lays by my side. 

The sky is open and blue and wide, just like Simon's eyes. They're so bright it takes my breath away. 

I scoot closer to him on the blanket, the grass under tickling me. Simon sighs when I nestle my face on his neck, placing my hand on his chest. Over his heart. (If I concentrate, I can listen to its steady beat; but I prefer to feel him just below my fingertips.) 

"Hey," he says softly, and I feel his fingers winding through my hair. It's quiet. Tentative. "What are you thinking?" 

I look up at him, frowning. "Why do you assume I'm thinking at all? Maybe I'm just enjoying some quality time with my boyfriend." 

A warm smile spreads across his face. "You make this pouty face whenever you're thinking too hard, y'know?" Simon says, then pecks at my lips as if to prove his point. "What is it?" 

I draw in a deep breath and tell him.

**Simon**

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Baz says, circling one finger around my navel. His other arm is curled around my shoulders, nestling my head. 

"Hmm?" I look at him groggily. "About what?" 

"About the summer," Baz says. I keep looking at him, waiting for an elaboration, but he just bites his lower lip. I can't help myself as I bring my hand to his face, my thumb circling his mouth. His breath hitches, and he leans into my touch. "It's difficult to think like this," Baz mumbles. 

I grin at him. "Stop thinking, then." 

He shakes his head, "This is important, Snow." Baz rolls off me, sitting by my side and giving me this expectant look. I huff and sit up. "What are your plans for the summer?" 

I frown at him. I don't think about the summers when I'm at Watford, just as I don't think about it when I'm in the care homes. I don't think it's worth the pain of missing the school. Of missing... Him. 

"I don't have plans," I say. "There's not much to do at the homes, anyway." 

"Well, I have plans," Baz replies. "But they don't include going back to Hampshire." 

My brows furrow further. "What? Why?" 

He shrugs. "I don't really feel like spending the next months inside my room, thinking about you, when I can _have_ you instead." 

I blush at the implications, my smile almost too big for my face. "Then what's the plan?" 

"Fiona will be out of the country for some months, so I'll be staying at her flat in London during that time." He pauses for a moment, staring at me… "And I was wondering if you'd like to move in with me. Just for this Summer. Like being roommates, but—" 

I interrupt him with my lips, tackling him down with the force of the kiss. Baz has scolded me for doing it before, but he doesn't seem to mind now. In fact, he answers with just as much enthusiasm. 

The kiss is frantic and sloppy, and at this point, we're giggling against each other's mouths more than really kissing, and it couldn't be better. I couldn't feel happier. 

( _Merlin_ , I expected to see him during the Summer, but nothing like this. My heart feels too big inside my chest, swelling with love and happiness.) 

"I'd love that," I say, angling my head to kiss his neck. "I… really, really want that, Baz. It will be amazing." 

He laughs, hugging me. "Great, but that's only part of the deal, Snow." 

I lift myself enough to look at his face.

"We could use this time to make research. Bunce and I were talking, and there are many things we still don't know about the Humdrum." Baz says, looking serious for a second. "We can work on this together, Simon. We can find a way to defeat that thing, and you won't have to do it alone." 

Something constricts inside my chest. I want to believe I'm going to survive the next year, I _need_ to. 

It'll be my last year at Watford, and everything will come to an end in a big fight against the Humdrum. Probably. 

There's a chance I'll win, though I still don't know how—the Humdrum always sends dark creatures, and I can take care of them. The only time I've ever faced him _(it),_ on that clearing _..._ well, it was a disaster. I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for Penny. 

"Hey," it's Baz's turn to call me softly, "look who's thinking too hard now." He smiles, kissing the crease between my brows. 

"I'm not, it's just that..." I trail off, looking around. I really don't want to about this, not now.

So instead of answering, I propel myself up on my elbows and nod towards the White Chapel, where the school's staff and some of the teachers are already setting things up for the Leaver's Ball tonight. 

"Would you like to stay for the ball?" I ask. "This time we can dance properly, now that we don't have to keep it a secret anymore. It could be fun."

"Nah." Baz bumps his forehead against mine. "I would rather wait for next year, you know?" 

**Baz**

Simon thinks for a moment, his mouth slightly open (mouth breather. He's so tempting). "Yeah, okay. But…" he sits up, looking away.

"Simon," I take his hand and squeeze. "What's wrong?" He seemed so radiant a moment ago, but now some of that light seems to be fading. 

"It's just..." he lies down again, an arm sneaking around my waist. I let Simon pull me to him, and then we're just a breath away, nose to nose and eyes locked. "I never thought things could be like this. I mean—for the longest time, I didn't even realise I _wanted_ this. And then, when I did, it seemed… impossible." He sighs, closing his eyes. "Now, I guess I'm afraid to lose it all." 

His voice falters on the word _lose_ , and I kiss his forehead. 

"Look at me." He does, and I brush some curls off his face. "We did it, didn't we? We got here alive. And I believe we can do it again, _together."_ I cradle his face with my hands, my thumb sliding across his cheek. "You won't fight the Humdrum alone, Simon. Penny and I will be there, and we'll win." 

I stare at him for a moment, searching the depths of his eyes for understanding. This is my promise—that there will be a next year; that we'll survive long enough to graduate school.

"Baz, I—" he swallows, and I follow his Adam's apple with my eyes. I watch as his lips tremble. "Thank you." He kisses my cheek, and though no words leave his lips, I can feel him mouthing against my skin: _"I love you."_

I turn my head to kiss him, my lips brushing his lightly, mouthing _"I love you, too."_

Then, I finally close the distance between us.

I used to imagine what this would feel like—kissing Simon Snow, sliding my hand under his shirt, loosening his tie and burying my fingers in his glorious mop of bronze curls. I imagined dating him would be some sort of gropefest, kisses hurried and hot, desperate and insatiable. 

_This_ kiss is nothing like that, though. This kiss is patient and lazy, because for now, we've got all the time in the world. 

_This_ kiss is slow and careful; gentle, forgiving and loving. 

_This_ kiss is a promise. That we'll get an endgame. No matter what happens, we'll be there for each other. 

Well, we're goingto carry on like we will. 

When we finally part, I just rest my forehead against his for a moment, trying to catch my breath. I don't know if I can bear looking at him now; it might be too much. 

But I open my eyes anyway, and the look he's giving me tugs at something inside my chest. It's a little painful, this sharp pang in my heart. For a moment, I wonder if it's some remnant of the spell that tied our lives together for some weeks. If some part of me is still so intrinsically connected to Simon that it hurts to look at him. 

Or it could be happiness. I let a smile linger on my lips before crashing into him again. (And then again. And again, and again, and again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And the rest is story!  
> Thank you for reading! 💕💕💕💕💕 This was my first fic, and I'm thrilled that it's now over. (Seriously, I.. might cry a bit. Omg.)  
> If anyone is interested, I now have more fics posted here—you can check them [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/works)  
> I'm also on Tumblr, where I talk a bit about my writing process and projects (and also memes)—find me on [@nightimedreamersworld!](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone, this is the first fic I write since I was, like, twelve years old. So please, bear with me. This is also the first text I write in English (which isn't my mother language) that is not for school, so it may have little errors. If so, please let me know!  
> In addition, thank you for reading ❤️


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